


Tainted Blood

by DuschaPendragon



Series: The Thirteen Tales [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Master/Pet, Multi, Parent/Child Incest, Punishment, Ramsay and Jeyne have children, Ramsay is his own warning, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-02-24 17:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 40
Words: 46,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2590106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuschaPendragon/pseuds/DuschaPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Bolton's defeated Stannis, Ramsay's Reek was returned to him and Ramsay made sure that Reek would never betray him again. But it's not just his Reek he needs. His wife is also returned to him and with her are two babes. Two identical girls with sets of ghost grey eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is inspired by 'The Thirteenth Tale'.

Her arrival was unexpected. With the snow being as bad as it was, it had been considered near impossible for her to return so quickly. Yet return she did. No doubt it had not been of her own volition. In fact, Jeyne was _led_ over the drawbridge and into Winterfell’s walls. Not that she had any intention of escaping. She couldn’t do it alone.  
Servants hurried about the courtyard, trying to shovel some of the snow away to make paths. She clutched the bundles tightly to her chest in fear of them being taken away. She glanced about the courtyard, seeking the faces she knew, yet did not wish to see. At first it was a relief to see only Roose Bolton’s face amongst the bustling crowds of servants and workers. Then that relief turned to dread. He had not come to see her return. Where was he? Why wasn’t he here? Was he so enraged by what she’d done that he was waiting to decide what punishment would suit her best? Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. As she was led forward, she overheard two serving girls whispering to one another. “What happened to her nose?” One of them giggled.  
A tear spilled down her cheek.  
The horse was halted and Roose Bolton strode down the steps towards her; his cold eyes fixated on the bundles clutched to her chest. “Take them away. We’ll deal with them later.” He ordered. Two men rushed forward towards Jeyne, arms outstretched ready to snatch them from her. “NO! Please Lord Bolton!” She wailed as the men tried to prise open her iron grip. “Please, I beg of you! Don’t take them from me!” She shrieked as her grasp was finally loosened enough for the men to steal the bundles from her. As they began to walk away, she leapt down from her horse and staggered after them, only for more men to bar her path. She could hear people muttering, but they were unimportant to her now. “Calm yourself Lady Arya.” Roose Bolton said softly. Jeyne ignored him, trying desperately to push through the two burly guards. “Bring Lady Arya to me Walton.” Roose ordered. It was clear that Jeyne would not come easily, so Walton wrapped his arms about her waist and lifted her, ignoring her ungraceful kicks and pummelling fists. She was plonked down in front of Lord Bolton, but refused to look up at him; choosing instead to stare at the doorway through which the two men had disappeared. “I assure you Lady Arya, I mean them no harm.” She looked up at Roose then, frowning. “They will be cared for as befits their rank. But for now it is best if they were to remain out of sight. I’m sure you, of all people, can understand that.” Roose regarded her with an exceedingly cold gaze. Jeyne looked at his polished boots and began to sob. “Now, shall we go in?” Roose asked. Jeyne began to sob louder.

Reek froze in his spot beneath the table as he heard heavy boots approaching. Every muscle was tensed, ready to leap out if needs be. But the men did not call his name, instead, they hollered for another. “Myranda!” One of them yelled. Reek heard softer footsteps this time, but that made them no less terrifying. Reek remembered. He had been in darkness when he’d first heard those soft footsteps, then she had torn the sack from his head. Myranda and the other one, who was now long dead, had untied him and helped him onto the bed. Then they’d teased him before they…before he…  
“What the fuck is that?” Her cold voice rang out, sharp as a knife.  
“Take care of ‘em would you?” The men began to leave the room.  
“Wait!” Myranda barked. They stopped. “What am I supposed to do with…these?” She asked incredulously.  
“You’re the woman, you figure something out.” One of the men snapped back. They left the room without another word. Myranda’s soft footsteps sounded once more and stopped just beside Reek’s head. Reek heard the rustle of cloth. Then silence fell once again. Myranda sighed. “They can die for all I care.” He heard her growl. She left the room and Reek’s fear left with her and was instead replaced by an unusual curiosity that rarely occurred. Reek was too stupid for that. What was it that Myranda hated so much?  
He paused, listening out for anyone who might enter the room, before creeping out from his hiding place. Then he did something almost unforgiveable. Reek stood up; it was the only way he could see over the table. When he saw what Myranda had been irritated by, he froze in confusion. Two _identical_ babies. They were clones of one another. They even seemed to move at the same time in their dreaming state; as though they dreamt of the same things. _Are they happy dreams, little ones?_ Reek thought. He envied them; lying there in their clean white swaddling blankets. In each corner of the blankets, a name had been embroidered in simple black letters. Leona and Laina. With a twitch of the blankets it was plain to see that both the children were girls.  
Elsewhere in the castle, a bloodcurdling scream rang out.  
Reek flinched as one of the babes opened their eyes. He found himself being studied by two chips of dirty ice.  
Jeyne’s screams grew louder.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramsay meets his daughters. Roose attempts to explain their value. Reek does his best to help.

After four days of screaming, sobbing and his son’s threats that shook the entire castle, Roose decided that enough was enough. He waited until there was a break, a brief pause from the beatings and whatever it was Ramsay was doing to his wife, then he brought in the babes. Walda had begged him not to. She had been taking care of them. But two was too many and she was still mourning the death of their own son. Besides, Roose had an idea. As well as the twins, Roose sent in Reek too. As soon as the two serving girls had settled the babes in front of Ramsay on his desk, Roose ordered them to leave. Ramsay wrinkled his nose in disgust when he glimpsed the chubby little clones. “What is this?” He growled.  
“These are you daughters.” Roose informed. There was a groan from the bed and Jeyne stirred amongst the sheets. At that moment, the babe in the Laina blanket released a gurgling sound. Ramsay twitched. Jeyne lifted her head slightly. “Laina?” She gasped. Of course, the men couldn’t understand how the mother knew which child it had been. “Did I give you permission to speak, wife?” Ramsay roared, slamming his hand down onto the desk. The babe in the Leona blanket began to scream. It was a scream so piercing that it even stunned Ramsay into silence for a moment. Jeyne curled into a ball on the bed and clamped her hands down over her ears. Roose could just about hear her repeating the word no.

Ramsay looked down at the squalling, red faced monster. “Be quiet you little brat!” He shouted back. The babe opened her eyes. Ramsay saw the same set of eyes he had. They seemed to hold him with a mixture of hatred and anger. Then the child continued on squalling. “I swear to all the Gods that if this child doesn’t stop screaming, I will tear out its tongue!” He roared. The babe screamed louder. Then Laina began to whimper too; screwing up the pudgy little face, readying itself to begin wailing. “No, no, NO!” Jeyne screamed, rocking back and forth on the bed. Fortunately for her, Ramsay was focused on the two brats in front of him. He raised his large hands and held them over their faces, the palm brushing their noses. Anger and resentment as well as blind rage filled him. He pushed his hands onto their tiny, squalling faces.

Reek spotted his queue. Roose had told him to look out for it; any sign of Ramsay attempting to harm the children. He quickly scurried forward on his hands and knees and began to rub his face affectionately up and down Ramsay’s leg. When Ramsay seemed not to notice, he pressed harder into his leg and began to rub faster, burning the side of his face on the fabric of Ramsay’s breeches in his desperation to get his masters attention. But this also failed and the babes’ cries grew fainter, and Jeyne’s louder. In a final attempt to get his master’s attention, Reek let out a pitiful whine.  
When Ramsay’s hands returned to his sides, the room fell silent. Ramsay looked down at his pet, frowning. Reek looked up with pleading eyes. Then Ramsay looked back down at the two babes on his desk. They were silent. Reek spotted Jeyne peering over the sheets. He could see the longing in her eyes to hear the babes make a noise. Any noise. Longing for a sign that they still lived. Laina gurgled again. Leona stared at Ramsay, as though mesmerized by his monstrous face. Ramsay slumped down into his chair and began to stroke and pull at Reek’s curls absentmindedly.

Roose watched his son, relieved to see the angry flame receding from his eyes. “Done?” He asked. The eyes narrowed. Ramsay looked down at his daughters. He lifted the blankets and peered beneath them, as though in need of proof that they were in fact daughters. “It is not daughters I need. It is sons.” Ramsay stated coldly.  
“A daughter can be just as useful. They can be used to make political alliances. Besides, these two girls are in fine health. There is no reason why the Lady Arya cannot bear you a son. Perhaps she has one in her already.” Roose suggested. Ramsay looked away. Obviously these past four days had included nothing that resembled trying to make another child. Roose glanced over his shoulder at the girl who watched them, hiding behind the bed sheets. “I must return to the Dreadfort soon. You are Lord of Winterfell. She needs to be kept alive as do your daughters. It is your duty to make sure they receive the proper care and education as befits their rank.” The look in Ramsay’s ghost grey eyes told him he would make no promises. Roose sighed. He had hoped to break the pattern of bad upbringing. He did not want another Ramsay, be it male or female. But it seemed it was going to be harder than he’d anticipated. “And you must put a son in her.” He knew now that Ramsay would forget his other duties. He had his pets back. That was all the boy cared about. And he couldn’t wait to begin playing with them again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeyne is proving useless, much to Ramsay's frustration. The twins are growing up wild and unruly, led only by their instincts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are a few years into the future now. I mean come on, Bolton babies can't cause as many strange and terrible acts as Bolton kids can. And this is only the beginning...

Inevitably, Roose’s worst fears came true. Perhaps if he had not had to return to the Dreadfort so soon. Perhaps if Ramsay didn’t have his favourite pets. Perhaps if the boy had had any sense of how actions had consequences…  
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.  
The twins of course couldn’t be blamed for their own upbringing.   
Gradually, as the years went by, the amount of workers in Winterfell diminished. So much so that the great hall was never even half full at meal times. Some had died from the bitter cold of winter. Others had most likely met an unfortunate ending due to Ramsay’s boredom. But most had left because of the screaming. Therefore there had never been anyone to educate the twins. But also, no one had _wanted_ to.  
First of all, there was the fighting. Leona and Laina had grown up thinking that never-ending screams were the norm. Leona would fly at Laina; beating, scratching, kicking and biting. Sometimes she would chase her with hot coals or pokers. Anything to make her screams join those of her mothers. What worried the diminished staff of Winterfell more was that Laina never attempted to defend herself from her sister. Leona’s anger was merciless and Laina would simply bow her head and wait for the storm to rage over her. She had the goodness of two children in her, whereas Leona had wickedness enough for them both.  
Some servants had tried to scold them, but they were never sure if the children could understand. They wouldn’t say anything when asked questions. Some servants even claimed to have heard the girls speaking in an alien tongue. It seemed the twins had created their own language with which to communicate. It was mainly made up of sounds rather than words. Once, one brave servant (perhaps having drunk too much) informed one of Ramsay’s men. Ramsay had had the servant’s tongue ripped out, not wanting word of it to spread to the Dreadfort where his father would hear of it.   
The Lord of Winterfell seemed to have forgotten he had two children. What time he didn’t spend locked within his terrified wife’s chambers, he spent dealing with matters occurring on his land. Even at meal times he didn’t see them. The girls fed themselves; helping themselves to whatever they could find in the kitchen whenever they felt like eating. Well, Laina did. She ate and ate and ate, seemingly unaware that the food had to last throughout the whole winter. Leona, on the other hand, was never seen eating at all. But the cook would notice a loaf of bread or leg of chicken go missing if she left it out for too long.  
The girls seemed unaware of the cold too. They had been born in winter. The cold was all they knew. They would wander through fields and woodland in nothing but old dresses they had found, not caring who owned the land or not. Neither walls nor gates kept them out. Sometimes the twins would end up _in_ someone’s house; helping themselves to food or personal goods. No one dared to tell their father though. The tale of the tongue incident had travelled far.  
The mother was no good either. When the girls were two, it looked for a while as though things would get better. Jeyne had fallen with child again. Ramsay had even held a feast with Jeyne sitting, pale faced and trembling, to his right. The twins had not been present. The almost-happy time had not lasted long however. Six months into her pregnancy, Jeyne had miscarried. The reasons weren’t known, but Ramsay had stayed in her room whilst she had been pregnant, and his presence alone would have scared her enough.   
The stillborn had been a boy. Ramsay had named it Domeric before throwing it on the fire whilst his wife watched, still covered in her own blood.  
The screaming continued for another year before she fell pregnant once more, but the child had only lived nine days before a fever took her. Ramsay called this girl Jeyne, then made sure the mother bled as much as the daughter had done when he’d cut her up and fed the chunks of body to his dogs.  
Each child she carried after that died in the womb. The people said they would prefer to die in there than face their father. Ramsay made sure that his Lady Arya stayed in her chambers, like the children that chose to stay in the womb.  
There was one event, however, that even the Lady Arya would hear about.

Reek waddled down the stairs, clinging to the wall in search of support. Every part of him ached and he longed for nothing more than to lay down and sleep. But it was Master and Lady Arya’s dinner time, and Master wanted it served in their room. He was busy and wished to eat whilst he worked. The thought of being involved any further in Ramsay’s work was what spurred him on. Reek had remained in Jeyne’s room for half the night and all day. Maybe if he was good…maybe…just maybe…  
Both the cook and her daughter were absent. There wasn’t even food ready for Reek to collect on the table. He whimpered and began to wring his hands together. He had to get the food…he had to…he just had to!  
He was close to hyperventilating by the time the cook appeared, red faced and anxious. Reek hopped from maimed foot to maimed foot. “Lord Ramsay and Lady Arya want their supper now.” He muttered.  
“Well Lord and Lady will have to wait!” She snapped, making Reek jump. Wait? He can’t wait! “Please, Lord Ramsay will be angry! Please!” Reek begged. The cook looked close to tears. _Yes, he’ll punish you too_ Reek thought. She wiped her brow nervously. “You haven’t seen the baby have you?” She asked nervously. Reek shook his head and looked across at the hooks on the wall. The cook’s daughter’s son was only a few months old and she’d hang him in his swaddling clothes whilst she worked. She always sang to keep him quiet. Reek’s blood ran cold when he noticed the empty hooks. He wrung his hands together. “Go and tell Lord Ramsay his dinner will be with him…” The cook was cut off by a blood curdling scream.

“Hush now Lady Arya, you know what we are doing now is all for the best.” Ramsay cooed through gritted teeth. Why couldn’t the bitch get pregnant and stay that way! He wasn’t asking for much, was he? She’d already given him two fucking daughters. Two girls doesn’t even begin to match the value of a son. His wife continued to sob into her sheets. Ramsay carved patterns on her skin out of boredom. Her screams still rang in his ears. He pushed the knife in deeper as he grew irritated by it. He pulled the knife out when he realised he’d written ‘boy’ on her leg. Why was making life so much harder than causing death? It had been six years since this bitch had returned. Six years and she had given him no living children. It would only take a matter of seconds for her to die once he slit that pale throat.  
Reek burst in through the door, falling flat on his face.  
“I am in no mood for being amused now Reek!” He spat, waving his knife around as a warning. “And where is my food?” He growled, standing up.  
“Master, please Master! Forgive Reek! Please…they…the twins…they’ve…” A scream cut him off. Ramsay frowned. “Stay!” He barked at his wife. She whimpered in reply. Quickly pulling on a shirt and breeches, Ramsay led the way out of the door, followed by a staggering, whimpering Reek.  
By the time he reached the courtyard, a small crowd had gathered. Was this really all that remained of his staff? He couldn’t worry about that now. Once they spotted him, they quickly moved out of the way and returned to whatever their duties were. All except two women. Was that the cook? He had no clue who the other one was. She was kneeling on the floor, screaming and sobbing hysterically. “Move!” He barked. The insolent bitch didn’t seem to hear so he gave her a hard kick. The cook dragged her away. Ramsay looked down at the mess and frowned. It was clear the child’s head had smashed when it hit the ground. It didn’t really have a head any more. It was simply fat stumpy arms and fat stumpy legs with a mush of blood and brains on top. He heard Reek whimper behind him. “What is it now Reek? You’ve seen worse, haven’t you?” He smirked. But Reek wasn’t looking at him. Ramsay followed his gaze to the top of the wall. Two sets of ghost grey eyes gazed back. The father and the daughters stared at each other for a moment before the girls began to giggle and speak in their alien tongue. They skipped away from their crime, hand in hand.    


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramsay gives Reek a task. The twins get in the way. Reek has a revelation.

Reek stared down at the mush of blood and brains, feeling sick. The mother’s cries rang in his ears. “Reek!” Came a distant voice. “REEK!” Ramsay grasped him firmly by the shoulders and shook him violently. Reek gasped in shock. How dare he! How dare he ignore Master! He immediately dropped onto his hands and knees and began to rub his head up and down his Master’s leg, ignoring the chunk of warm brain that was trapped beneath his hand. “Enough Reek!” Ramsay snapped. “Stand up.” Reek did as he was bid. “Go and tell Lady Arya that I will not be returning to her. Make sure my chambers are prepared. I need time to think and her screaming won’t help. I want food already in there and ready for me once I’ve seen to this mess. Understand me?” Ramsay’s eyes bored into Reek’s. He nodded and began to wring his hands together anxiously. “Go!” Ramsay barked, already looking around to find someone to clean the mess up.  
“Should I take Lady Arya some food Master?” Reek dared to ask. The look from Ramsay told him he would pay for that later. He scurried away. “You girl!” He heard Lord Ramsay bark. The weeping mother stopped crying at once; her grief replaced by fear. “Clean this mess up!” Ramsay ordered. The crying resumed. Reek moved as fast as he could, eager to get away. At least Lady Arya would not be screaming tonight. When he told her that her Lord would not be returning, she slumped down onto the bed and quickly drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep. Reek allowed himself to wonder whether that was the most peaceful sleep she’d had since she’d returned six years ago. Reek worried that once Ramsay grew bored of thinking, he would return to her chambers, or worse, he would look to his Reek for amusement.  
His worrying soon turned to fear when he heard the sound of two little girls laughing. He began to tremble when he reached Master Ramsay’s chambers and realised that was where the laughter came from. Reek stopped and stared down at his shaking hands, attempting to steady them before he went in. The attempt was in vain and he could barely walk as he entered the room. He stopped and stared, shocked. The skins that had been hung on the walls had been torn down and ripped apart; shreds of them strewn across the floor. The skulls had also been thrown on the floor and smashed, along with torn up books, broken weaponry and torn up bed sheets. Bloody handprints now lined the walls. As the twins danced and laughed about, chasing each other and giggling, Reek looked about desperately for the source of the blood. On the floor, he spotted Myranda. She was sprawled on the stones, motionless, a vase lay smashed beside her head and her soft brown hair was matted with blood. Reek let out a loud wail and crumpled to the floor, clutching his head in his hands, longing for children’s laughter to leave his head. It did. The laughter and the sounds the twins made to communicate was gone. Reek peered up at them through his fingers. They stared back at him. The two girls cocked their heads to the right in unison. He whimpered when he realised they were thinking; a thousand questions in their eyes. How strange he was to them! Reek allowed himself to think for a moment.  
Perhaps for the first time, he noticed how there was nothing cruel or inhuman about their gaze. It was simply the way a child would look upon an object. A thing. Reek was used to that. He wasn’t a human, just a Reek. But it wasn’t just him they would look at like that. He realised now that that was how they looked at everyone. They had even dared to look that way at master! _They don’t realise that I am alive_ he thought. _They don’t realise that anyone is alive but themselves._ Turning it over in his head, he began to understand it all. They were twins. They were always together. There was always _two_ of them. If it was normal in their world for people to come in twos, what would people who came in _ones_ look like to them? To the twins, it must seem as strange as a normal person without a body part.  
Reek whimpered. That made him strange to both them and normal people.  
Staring at the two girls, he realised for the first time that to them, their strangeness was only natural. After all, everyone longs for an other half. He had one. He had Master.  
He released another wail when he remembered the task master had set him. He would be so angry! His chambers were supposed to be ready, and they weren’t even clean! He began to weep. There was no way he would be able to clean all of this up by the time Master returned.   
Reek’s crying was so hysterical, he didn’t even hear the girl approach. It wasn’t until she touched him that he realised she was there. She cupped his cheek with her tiny hand. “Reek sad.” It was Laina. Reek was too startled to pull away. He looked up at her, blinking away the fog of tears. “Reek sad?” The child spoke again. Reek’s head twitched as he nodded. The girl smiled. It was a smile completely without malice, or guilt. Laina was simply proud of the fact that she had seen something and correctly identified it. She’d seen the tears. She had been puzzled. But now she had found the answer to that puzzle. It was sadness.   
Laina continued to cup Reek’s cheek.  
Neither of them noticed the other figure in the room, who began to tremble with a rage that would soon be uncontrollable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short update but fear not, trouble is coming!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leona releases her rage until she meets her match. Roose receives a letter.

By the time Ramsay reached the doorway, he was too late. The rage was released and Leona threw herself towards Reek and Laina. She knocked Laina away and began her savage attack. She bit and kicked, punched and pinched; landing blows wherever she could. Ramsay stood in the doorway for a moment, frozen with the shock of what he was witnessing. Reek shrieked and tried to roll up into a ball on the floor to protect himself whilst the little girl screamed and continued her attack. Laina inched forward, head bowed submissively, waiting for the angry blows to turn on her. It seemed as though she would be waiting for a long time. Ramsay wasn’t sure if Reek had even seen him, but Reek cried out for him all the same. “Master!” He wailed. Poor little helpless Reek. Ramsay came to his senses then when Reek called out for him again. He charged forward and pushed the little monster away; his thrust sending her flying across the room, before going to his Reek. Leona hit the wall and slumped onto the ground. She lay there, motionless.  
Ramsay’s rage was almost a match for his daughter’s. How dare they touch his pet! Reek realised the attacking had stopped and threw himself into his Master’s arms. But that was not enough to quench Ramsay’s anger. Unfortunately, Laina was nearby. And she looked so much like Leona. His eyes latched onto her and he released a feral snarl before swiping his leg around and knocking her legs out from under her.  
On hearing her sister cry out from both the pain in her legs and her head, Leona was shaken out of her unconscious state. She cocked her head and listened to Laina’s cries for a moment. Then she turned her head and looked over her shoulder. Her sister lay, crying, on the floor, curled into a fetal position. Leona watched her father give a final kick for good measure. She growled, clambered onto her feet, and began to run. A few feet away, she leapt into the air and cried out, some sort of instinctive battle-cry perhaps.  
Ramsay, so concerned for his Reek, didn’t even see the little monster coming.  
She landed on his back; digging her fingers and toes in so that he was unable to shake her off. His angry roar turned into a scream when she brought her mouth to his shoulder, and sunk her teeth in, tearing through his shirt and flesh. “Get OFF!” Ramsay roared.  
But Leona didn’t know those words.   
Ramsay threw himself back and the child cried out in pain and anger as she was crushed beneath his mighty weight. Once he felt her let go, he got off and turned to face her. He was on top of her, pinning her down beneath him. Leona, despite being held down, tried her best to fight him off. She squirmed; desperately trying to free her arms and legs and attempting to reach his wrists with her teeth in the hope of freeing herself. When she realised that his arms were out of her reach, she seemed only to become angrier. In one final, desperate attempt to get this thing off of her, she spat.  
Ramsay stopped his growling when he felt the saliva hit his cheek. He stared down at her. She glared back.  
Reek held his breath.  
Laina sensed the tension and ceased her whimpering.  
Even Myranda released a groan.  
He knocked a few of her teeth out first. Leona squealed like a dying pig. Then he grabbed her left hand, holding it tightly and not letting go until he heard the bones crunch.  
Reek flinched when he heard the girl scream. _“Protect the children.”_ He heard Roose Bolton say. _“You’re the only one who can.”  
I can’t. I am Reek, it rhymes with weak. I can’t even help myself _ he thought. A loud whine escaped his lips. By now, Ramsay’s fists were covered in blood. Leona, for once, had run out of fight. Only small whimpers informed Reek that she was still alive. Fortunately, Ramsay’s punches were slowing. Eventually they ceased altogether. He stood up, saying nothing, and wiped the sweat from his brow, smearing Leona’s blood across his forehead. He didn’t look at either child as he moved across the room towards Reek. Reek trembled and began to crawl towards his Master, ignoring the pain from where Leona had landed her blows. His trembling stopped when he noticed the fire in Ramsay’s eyes had died. He rubbed his head against his Master’s legs. Ramsay crouched down and gently stroked his pets tangled curls. “Did those little monsters hurt you my pet?” Lord Ramsay asked softly. Reek whimpered. _“Protect the children.”_ Roose Bolton commanded. _He’ll know if I lie, I’ll lose another finger or worse. I can’t even protect myself._  
Reek nodded. Ramsay’s eyes flashed with anger, but Reek knew it was not himself he was angry at. “Go to the maester and ask him to give you milk of the poppy and to come and see to Myranda. Then tidy this room up. If it’s clean by nightfall, I’ll let you eat an entire meal.” Ramsay promised. Reek swallowed, fearing he may begin to drool. An entire meal! “Thank you Master! Master is so kind, Reek is very grateful!” He gabbled. Ramsay smiled and stood up. Without looking back, he left the room. Reek knew where he would be going.  
It seemed Jeyne wouldn’t be getting a whole nights rest after all.

In a far corner of the castle, his son screamed. Perhaps it was bath time. The child always began to squall at bath times. It had been a long time since the sound of a child filled the cold halls of the Dreadfort. So many, in fact, that Roose had forgotten how irritating it was. But his own child was not his main concern right now.  
He read through the letter again. Skinner’s scrawl was easier to read by the fifth go.

_The twins grow unruly and wild. It wasn’t until recently that their savagery was brought to Lord Ramsay’s attention. They threw a baby from the battlements into the main courtyard. There didn’t seem to be any reason for it except for general amusement. Even your son seemed shocked by their actions._   
_It is unlikely that the Lady Arya will bear another child. I did not ask the maester to confirm it in fear of him informing Lord Ramsay that I had been asking questions. These two girls are all he has. Something must be done. If no one puts their foot down, those two twins may turn out worse than their father._

Roose sighed and rubbed his eyes. He had hoped he would not have to return to Winterfell. Not yet anyway. But he had to agree with his spy. _Something must be done._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roose arrives makes a surprise visit and finds that things are worse than he'd feared. His wife meets her granddaughters.

Reek had not seen the castle so alive in years. Perhaps not even since Master had married Lady Arya. The bustling servants caused him more panic than usual, so he stuck beside Master, fearing he’d get in the way or make a mistake. Ramsay barely paid him any attention. Reek crawled about after him, receiving the occasional kick whenever Ramsay’s anger got the better of him. Master _was_ angry, Reek could see that. It had been getting worse and worse since the letter from the Dreadfort had arrived. It seemed Roose Bolton would be making a surprise visit. Since then, Master Ramsay had left his wife’s chamber and attempted to ready the castle for his father’s arrival. The castle itself would at least look a good deal better than when Roose Bolton had last ridden towards it. Inside the castle was a different matter. The amount of workers was perhaps suitable for a manor house, but not a castle. It meant that hardly any of the rooms were used, apart from whenever the twins passed through them, but that only served to put them into a worse state. At least half of the chambers had fallen into a state of decay and devastation. The rushes on the floors had not been replaced for a number of years, the woodwork had rotted away and the tapestries were torn and mouldy. Most of the rooms still had not been cleaned, but it was too late now. “Lord Ramsay!” Reek heard Damon call as they crossed the courtyard. Turning, Reek saw Damon canter through the gates. He pulled his destrier up just in front of them. Reek cowered away from the stamping hooves. “What is it Damon?” Ramsay growled, eager to make one last check of what were to be his father’s chambers.   
“He’s entered winter town.” Damon said. Ramsay snarled and kicked Reek in the ribs. “Go and make sure there is mulled wine and food for them when they get here.” Ramsay ordered. Damon nodded and led his horse away. Reek shivered as his Master turned and stared at the gate. Snow began to fall, as though the weather knew of the cold man that was riding to meet them.

Walda huddled deeper into her furs, wishing she could take her hands off of the reins just for one moment so she could pull her hood up. She couldn’t summon the courage to do it though. The cold had seeped through her cloak and skirts and her legs were so numb she feared she wouldn’t be able to stay in the saddle. Walda was almost relieved when the walls of Winterfell loomed before them. Almost. Then she remembered what waited for them inside. She didn’t chance a look at her husband. She knew she’d get no comfort there. How she longed to have remained at the Dreadfort, cuddling her son and watching him as he slept; hearing his tiny breaths and watching his eyelids flutter as he dreamt. But her husband wanted her with him, and her granddaughters needed her. She swallowed her nerves at the thought of them and made her face a mask as they passed beneath the gate house. Her step son was waiting for them in the courtyard. Walda tried to ignore the creature by his side. Ramsay smiled his charming smile but Walda wasn’t fooled. When she pulled her horse up and dismounted, she clutched her large stomach, hiding her hand beneath her cloak. She would never forget the boy she had once carried, and she would never forgive who killed him. “Father, mother, welcome to Winterfell.” Ramsay called. Walda moved in behind her husband and followed him towards the cruel boy that had called her mother. She longed for her own child to call her that, before the word was soured by Ramsay’s tongue. “I thought you may have brought my brother. I would have so very much liked to meet him!” Walda looked at the ground and gritted her teeth. She could feel his cold eyes on her, relishing her reaction. Fortunately, her husband saved her before what remained of her courage fled altogether. “My son remained at the Dreadfort. He is young.”  
“He is four is he not? Such a tender age. It was probably for the best he stayed at home. The snow could be the death of him.” She could hear the smirk in Ramsay’s voice. Walda trembled with anger now and curled her hand into a fist. “Your concern for your brother is touching. Shall we go in?” Roose brushed passed his son, not waiting for the Lord of Winterfell’s permission. Walda followed, relishing Ramsay’s irritated glare. “I have had wine warmed for you and there should be some…”  
“Not now. Where is your wife Ramsay?” Roose asked, rounding on him the moment they were inside.  
“Lady Arya isn’t well. She’s…”  
“And how long has she been unwell? A week? A month?”  
“Well she’s…”  
“How about six years?” Her husband did not raise his voice. If anything, he lowered it. That only made him more terrifying. “It hasn’t been that long.” Ramsay growled.  
“I suppose the people have not seen her since the last time she was pregnant.” Roose raised an eyebrow.  
“They know she’s alive.”  
“I’m sure they do. Where are your daughters?” Walda looked up, curious to see how her step son would react. Ramsay shifted from foot to foot. “See my wife to her chambers.” Roose Bolton ordered. That’s when they realised that the only other person, if he classed as a person, around was Reek. Walda looked down at the creature who stared up at Ramsay, unsure. “Go on Reek.” Ramsay muttered. Walda knew better than to question her husband. She followed Reek through a doorway and deeper into the castle.

“Take me to your wife, Ramsay.” Roose ordered.   
“I would be glad to bring her to you…”  
“No. Take me to her.” Roose’s tone left no option for questions. When his son turned and walked off, leading the way, Roose pursed his lips. It was silent as they made their way through the castle. There footsteps echoed, following them along the corridors. Roose couldn’t help but notice how empty the castle was. He recalled visiting the place a long time ago, back when the Stark’s ruled the North. Back then, the castle had been warm and filled with the laughter of children. He’d hated it. But this wasn’t much better either. Roose could feel the screams that had been etched into the stonework. He could also feel his son’s fear. Roose’s lips stretched into what could’ve been a smile.

The castle only seemed to get colder as they got deeper into it. The air felt damp as well and she could smell rotting rushes from the rooms they passed. Reek moved painfully slowly, but Walda couldn’t bring herself to scold him. She could hear him whimper in pain as he walked along. Suddenly, his whimpers were joined by another sound. Reek stopped abruptly in front of her and seemed to be listening to the sound. She waited behind him and could’ve sworn she could see him tremble. “Is something wrong?” Walda asked gently. Reek’s head twitched from side to side and he continued hobbling down the corridor. It wasn’t long before they found the source of the sound. Reek continued to walk, as though he hadn’t noticed them. “Wait!” She called. He stopped immediately. They were almost in darkness, their faces barely lit. They were on a small set of stairs that led up to a wooden door. One was lying down on one of the steps, the other sat above her, wiping something on the others’ face. They didn’t notice her at first and they continued talking. Except it wasn’t talking. To her horror, she realised that the words they said weren’t words, but just a jumble of incoherent sounds. Perhaps it was a mother’s instinct that provoked her to approach them. “Hello.” She said gently, crouching down in front of them so she was at their level. The noises stopped. The one lying down sat up. They fixed her with a queer gaze. “I suppose you don’t remember me. You were only babies the last time I saw you. Look how much you’ve grown!” She used the voice she’d have used if she was speaking to her own child.  
They answered with a stare. It was as if…it sounded mad…but it was as if she wasn’t real to them. They stared at her as though she were a strange object that fascinated them.   
“M’lady, please, we should go. Please!” Reek was almost begging. He glanced nervously at the twin’s then back at her. She could sense his distress and, with one last glance at her granddaughters, continued to follow him down the dingy corridor.

Roose frowned at his daughter in law. She stood before him, trembling, covered only by a light linen shift and a wolf pelt. He had allowed Ramsay to go into the room first, after he said he needed to make sure she was decent. It irritated him how his son thought _this_ was decent. “When was the last time she went outside?” Roose asked. She looked so small amongst the pelt. From what he could of her face, which had been hidden beneath her hair, she was bruised and he could’ve sworn that lines were appearing. He looked to his son, who had still not answered his question. “She has a window.” He shrugged. Roose moved towards him, ignoring Arya who flinched at the sudden movement. “When I left you here, I gave you three orders and the only one you managed to follow was keeping your wife alive, and you’ve barely done that.” Roose kept his voice low. His son didn’t meet his gaze. “It’s not my fault she can’t keep a baby in her belly father. Believe me, I’ve tried.” Ramsay growled. Arya’s trembling grew worse. “And what about your living children?” Roose raised an eyebrow. Ramsay turned his face away, but Roose saw his expression darken. Then he spotted the bite mark on his neck. Roose smirked. “Which one did that?” He asked, guessing who was responsible.   
“I don’t know.”  
“You can’t tell them apart?”   
“Well they _are_ identical.” Ramsay snapped.  
“They are your daughter’s, whether you like it or not. Leona and Laina should have started their education years ago.” Roose noticed Arya raise her head when she heard her children’s names. “When was the last time you saw your children my Lady?” He asked her. She looked at Ramsay with fear in her eyes, seemingly unsure of what to do. “ _When was the last time you spoke to someone other than your husband?”_ He wanted to ask. “Well?” He ignored the glares he received from his son.  
“I don’t know my Lord. I can’t remember!” She wailed, clutching her stomach and struggling to breathe through the sobs.  
“Do you want to see them?” Roose asked. The sobbing died down. Arya looked up at him in astonishment. She nodded. “Then you shall.” He promised. Arya resumed her weeping, this time though, it was caused by joy.

Reek left her almost the moment they reached what were to be her chambers, for however long they were staying. After her encounter with the twin’s she selfishly hoped that wouldn’t be long. Then Walda felt guilty. It wasn’t their fault they were so strange. From what little her husband had told her, the girls had had neither a mother nor a father. They’d had no one but each other. Walda couldn’t imagine what it must be like. Being in such a large family, there had always been someone around. But the twin’s had no one and to them, that must seem normal.  
Wanting to distract herself from her granddaughters, Walda set about exploring her chambers. It was hard to tell whether or not they were the same chambers she had had the last time she’d stayed at Winterfell, but the walls felt a lot sturdier. The room, although cold, was still warmer than last time. But the scent of mould and something fouler clung to the air. She sniffed again. It smelled as though there was something rotting in the room.  
Walda followed her nose into her bedchamber. She stopped in the doorway and could hear a scratching sound. A moment later, she could’ve sworn she’d seen the wardrobe shake. There it went again! Steeling her nerves, Walda went towards it. The scratching continued. There was something _inside_.   
She put her hand on the handle.   
_One…two…three…_  
She threw the door open and leapt back, screaming as something jumped out at her. Then she felt a fool. The raven hopped about on the floor, dazed by the sudden brightness of the room compared to the inside of the wardrobe. “Poor birdie! How long have you been stuck in there?” She breathed. With shaking hands, Walda picked up the bird, holding it out awkwardly in front of her. Once she reached the window, she released it and watched as the raven flew down towards the Godswood and perched on one of the nearest trees.  
Poor Walda never heard the tiny footsteps behind her, nor did she see the figure rise up and lift the lump of wood.  
As she crashed to the ground, Walda heard a little girl laughing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeyne meets her children, but soon wishes she hadn't. Roose considers his granddaughters' options.

She wondered if it had been a trick all along. Something her husband had planned as a new form of torture. She blinked back tears. _Were they even alive?_ Jeyne bit back a sob. They were. Lord Bolton had said so. And she had heard them. It was a rare occurrence, but sometimes when Ramsay had ceased his roaring and growling, and she had been unable to scream or cry, and the children had been close by. Then she’d hear them laughing and playing. She only carried on to hear their tiny voices. Occasionally she would hate them for it. If they weren’t there, she could let go. Death would be such a blessing. But then, when she’d come dangerously close to giving up, she’d hear them laugh and her heart would beat just that bit faster.  
Jeyne was well aware of her husband beside her. She was aware that he was quickly losing patience. _“Please,”_ She thought. _“Please…just a bit longer…please just let me see them…”_ She released a tiny whimper and began to tremble when she realised Ramsay had heard it. He slid his hand up beneath her wolf pelt and pinched her hard.  
The sound of a door opening had never sounded so sweet.  
Laina was carried in by Damon, lost in his large arms. Jeyne shivered at the sight of those large arms around her child. All Damon would have to do was squeeze and Laina’s thin bones would snap. She only knew it was Laina due to the state of the other twin. She had seen the marks her daughter had made on Ramsay and had heard tales of Leona’s wicked nature. She didn’t want to believe them. But Leona entered the room slung over Skinner’s shoulder, pummelling relentlessly at his back with her tiny fists, screaming at him. Jeyne winced. “Stop that you little brat.” Skinner growled. Leona didn’t seem to hear. Jeyne heard Skinner growl for a second time. _“Please don’t hurt her!”_ Jeyne wanted to yell. Ramsay’s pinch was enough of a warning to keep her silent. She trembled as the two girls were plonked down in front of them. Laina stood, staring at the strangers in the room. Jeyne’s heart sank as her queer gaze passed over her as though she wasn’t even there. _She doesn’t recognise me._ Jeyne wanted to weep. But why would she recognise her? She had done nothing but bring them into this world. They hadn’t seen her for so long they had probably forgotten she existed. _They’ve only heard me scream._ When she had been stronger, Jeyne used to go and sit by the window whenever her husband gave her some peace. She had seen them then; playing merrily in the snow as she and Sansa once had…  
Jeyne’s thoughts were cut off by Leona releasing another shriek and resuming her attack on Skinner. “That’s enough!” Ramsay bellowed. The girl’s eyes fixed onto his then. _Oh, please no…Leona._ But it was too late. The defiance was already there. Keeping her eyes on her father, Leona sunk her teeth into Skinner’s leg. Ramsay released his grip on Jeyne’s arm and readied himself to charge at his daughter and save his friend who was crying out in agony as the girl refused to let him go. Jeyne wanted to move forward, to protect her children. To her shame, she found that she couldn’t. Fortunately, her father in law intervened. “No Ramsay.” Roose ordered. Ramsay stopped, though he continued to glare at the child. “Leona, enough of that.” Roose kept his voice soft and low. Leona stared at him. She furrowed her brow, deep in thought, trying to figure out this new thing that made sounds. She was so curious that Skinner was able to make his escape. Leona remained hunched on the floor, staring at Roose. Laina moved over and sat down beside her. The room fell silent once Damon and Skinner left the room. Only Jeyne, Roose, Ramsay, Reek and the twins remained. “You may approach them now, Lady Arya.” Roose commanded in his soft voice that felt like a knife drawn down her back. Jeyne sucked in her breath. This was the moment she had been waiting for, but now that it came, she found that she was afraid. Her husband moved to stand beside her and she began to tremble. “Go.” He growled softly. Jeyne took an obedient step forward, then another, then another. The two girls stared up at her. She crouched down and went onto her knees so that she was in front of them.  
They stared. They stared with those terrible eyes. Those eyes that flayed and beat and hurt. She cowered away.  
And still they stared.  
“Laina, Leona, this is your mother. Do you understand that?” Jeyne heard Roose Bolton’s voice, but it sounded so far away. All she could see were their eyes. All she could smell was the dirt they were caked in. All she could hear was Laina’s rhythmic breaths and Leona’s ragged ones. The twins over-whelmed her senses. It frightened her. But her heart was ruling her head and she ignored the instinct to turn and run away. “My girls.” She breathed, tears spilling down her cheeks. “My baby girls.”  
Perhaps she moved too quickly. Perhaps her hopes were too high. Perhaps she knew too little about the nature of her children. Perhaps…perhaps…perhaps…  
As she tried to embrace them, Laina shrank away towards her sister and Leona reacted the only way she knew how.

Roose called out for Damon and Skinner. Ramsay ignored his order and ran in like a bull, knocking his spawn away, beating them until they let go. Then he dragged his wife away. She screamed, begging him not to, begging for them not to be taken away. Begging to not be left alone with her husband. That drove Ramsay to the edge and Roose knew it. He knew he would not be able to pull his son back. He watched as Ramsay flung his wife onto the bed. Roose could abide the screaming and the brutality of the rape was nothing new to him. But perhaps for the first time in his life, Roose was horrified. The two girls, before Damon and Skinner could grab them, ran towards their mother and father. Leona leapt up onto her father’s back, biting and scratching, landing blows wherever possible. Even Damon and Skinner forgot their orders and stared. The twins seemed completely unaware of what their father was doing to their mother. Perhaps they didn’t care. Laina watched as her sister attacked. Ramsay paused mid-thrust to throw the girl from his back. “DAMON! SKINNER!” Roose yelled. The two men were shaken out of their horror. They needed no instruction on what to do.

Late that night, Roose sat by the fire, feeling tired and cold. His wife was in the bed chamber, being tended to by the maester. He stared deep into the flames. It was clear to him now that the relationship between the parents and the children was beyond saving. This was good, it was what he’d wanted to know. That was what the test had been about. It was the violence of it that shocked him. The girls would never be normal, they were Ramsay’s children. They would never be intelligent either. Perhaps they would be better off dead.  
Roose considered it for a moment.  
No. He needed them. It was unlikely that Ramsay would get any more children out of his weak little wife, and finding another wife for him would be near impossible. No doubt people would have heard of his sadistic bastard’s nature by now. He was sure fathers would rather see their daughters murdered than give them to such a monster.  
 _Something must be done._  
Yes, it did. But he couldn’t do this himself, at least not alone. Roose Bolton was not made for raising children.   
He picked up the quill and dipped it into the ink. Flattening the role of parchment that waited in front of him, Roose began the letter.    


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramsay does too much thinking. Roose's helper arrives.

Ramsay was too distracted to involve himself in readying the castle for the arrival of Lady Dustin. It was his father’s idea. He didn’t want the old hag here, poking her nose around. The timing couldn’t have been worse either. Meeting her children had done his wife more harm than good. The moment his anger had cleared, and Ramsay had been able to focus, he had found her much changed. His father must have taken the two brats away whilst he had restrained his wife. He barely remembered what had happened. He was certain he’d raped her, but that was nothing new. He couldn’t remember the exchange between mother and daughters. The anger had wiped his memory clean. But it seemed his wife remembered.  
Ramsay glanced over at the bed where she lay still, propped up against the pillows. She stared out of the window, seeing nothing. He could hear her ragged breathing. She was paler than yesterday, how was that even possible? Had it not been for the bruises, he wouldn’t be able to tell where his wife ended and the sheets began. He was about to call out her name, to renew his efforts, but he stopped himself. She was useless. She hadn’t been able to give him a son and now she was failing to entertain him. Ramsay sighed and played with his pets curls. He heard Reek groan softly at the touch. Reek had been oddly quiet too. He seemed to be distracted by his own thoughts. Ramsay had threatened to flay him for it yesterday and that appeared to have put things to rights again.  
He barely noticed when Reek rested his head on his lap. If his father wasn’t here, he could rid himself of his wife. He longed to give her a long and entertaining death, but right now he’d be satisfied with just holding a pillow over her face. Anything to stop those ragged breaths and the empty stares. Even when he did make an effort to play with her, she would just stare and allow him to do whatever he wanted. She wouldn’t even release a whimper.   
Ramsay grabbed a fistful of curls and yanked hard in frustration, ignoring Reek’s cry of pain. Now that bitch was coming, he wouldn’t get a chance. She’d probably demand to see her as well. And she’d want to see the children.  
Ramsay yanked at the dirty hair again.  
Those fucking brats. He hated them both. One had thought she had the right to touch his Reek, and the other…  
Reek cried out in pain again. “I’m sorry my pet, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Ramsay smirked. Reek moaned and nestled his head deeper into his Master’s lap. Ramsay fell back into his brooding silence once more, trying desperately to block out his wife’s ragged breathing. Perhaps he could kill the girls. They were always here or there. It wouldn’t be unusual for one of them to trip and fall…down the stairs. Their tiny little necks would snap like twigs. Ramsay smirked at the thought.  
But then it would be impossible for him to approach them without them making a commotion. Leona would start her attack before he even got a chance to grab them. He could get someone else to do it, perhaps Damon or Skinner. But would they be willing to kill two children with his father around? Besides, one of the girls were bound to start screaming the moment the men laid a finger on them.  
He sighed in frustration. He was growing irritated with all this plotting. It wasn’t what Ramsay enjoyed doing. His head ached from it all.   
Deciding to think no more, he stood up suddenly, making Reek squeal in fear. Immediately, his pet scrabbled onto all fours and began to rub his face up and down his leg. “Get on the bed Reek.” Ramsay ordered. Outside he could hear horses and people talking. “Let’s give Lady Dustin a welcome she won’t forget.” He muttered under his breath, smiling.

She picked at the food. It was a poor meal. When the servant stepped forward to pour her wine, she refused and waved it off. “I take it you have a good enough reason for summoning me here Lord Bolton?” She asked, raising a thin eyebrow.  
“I do.” He admitted, taking a sip of his wine.   
“Well? What is it?” Lady Dustin was growing impatient. She did not wish to be here, not under the Bastard’s roof. “Lady Arya appears to be barren and my son has little chance of acquiring another wife.” Roose replied bluntly.  
“Barren? As I recall, she bore two daughters, did she not?”  
“Yes, she did, which my son is most unhappy about.” Roose Bolton admitted.  
“Your bastard’s happiness has naught to do with me.”  
“But it has plenty to do with my granddaughters. He has been so intent on getting a son off of his wife that he has hardly acknowledged his two daughters. They have grown up wild and violent.”   
“How so?” Lady Dustin did her best to hide her curiosity.  
“Before I arrived, they threw a baby from the battlements. No reason for it, simply as a form of entertainment. When I arrived here, one of them attacked my wife. They attacked her from behind, knocking her unconscious.” Lady Dustin smirked. The girls must be strong if they were able to knock out someone as large as Fat Walda.  
“And why does this concern me? Surely it is the duty of the parents to see that their children are brought up in an appropriate manner.” She watched Lord Bolton as he stood from his chair and went to the window. They were silent for a moment. She could see him staring at something below them. Then she heard the faint sound of two girls, laughing and playing. “I’m not sure if they are even aware that Ramsay is their father, nor Lady Arya their mother. There was an incident before I arrived where one of them attacked Ramsay, though I don’t doubt that he did something to provoke them.” Roose informed.  
“They must know very little about their own father if they are bold enough to attack him.” Barbrey snorted.  
“Little and less. One is worse than the other. My spies tell me she has wickedness in her enough for them both.” Roose continued looking out at the window, observing the children.  
“And what is it you wish for me to do?” Lady Dustin had heard enough to know that it was the two children she had been summoned for.  
“My son Domeric was a page in your household, and he grew up to be well behaved, for a time anyway. I fear it may be too late for either of the twins to be particularly intelligent, but if we can control them it will be easier to find husbands for them when they come of age.”  
“So you wish for me to educate them?” Barbrey was almost surprised by that.  
“Not quite. They are inseparable. That is a problem. The more aggressive one, Leona, regularly launches attacks at her sister. Laina will make no attempt to protect herself. They don’t seem to understand that they are separate beings. I feel it would be best if we were to separate them, and educate them apart. One will remain here, the other will be put in your care. Barrowton is too far, but there is a keep nearby that will suffice for now.” Roose spoke as though she were given no other option.  
“You are asking me to leave my lands and take care of one of your bastard’s unruly children?”  
“I’m not asking.” Lady Dustin sighed. He was her liege lord. She could feel his trap slowly closing in around her. “Fine. Which one will I take?” She asked. For the first time, she thought she saw Roose Bolton smile.   



	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins are torn apart and Reek finds someone he'd thought he'd lost.

Laina had one weakness.   
Beneath her bed she kept a box. A little wooden chest filled with her treasure. Like a magpie, she would take anything she found that glimmered and shone in the light; shards of glass, a dented goblet. Once, on one of their ventures, the twins had found themselves in Myranda’s chambers. Laina had left with her arms full of the jewels she’d found, including the red ruby necklace that had been Myranda’s favourite. Even Leona knew better than to disturb Laina’s box.   
Checking her box was the only time of day that Laina and Leona were apart.  
With this in mind, you could imagine Laina’s excitement when she wondered into her room to count her treasures, and found a pile of glittering jewellery beside her bed. So engrossed was she in her new toys, she never even heard the door close behind her. By the time she heard the bolts slide shut, it was too late. Laina’s head snapped around at the sound and she abandoned the jewels. She walked, calmly, over to the door and tried to open it. If anyone had seen her in that moment, they would have mistaken her for Leona. She attacked the door like her sister had once attacked Ramsay; punching, scratching and attempting to bite at the wood. But it proved to be futile and screams from outside soon drew her away.  
The room where the twins slept had never been meant for sleeping in. In fact, it was an abandoned room in one of the defence towers on the inner wall. This meant that the only form of a window came from the narrow slits that archers would use if the castle was under attack. Laina could see out of it and at a certain angle she could catch a glimpse of the courtyard below. She could see one of the things carrying her sister down the steps, slung over his shoulders and ignoring her attempts to fight. Then there was the man who had the same eyes as her, and the fat woman too. There was another skinny woman but Laina hadn’t seen her before. She spotted the smelly nice creature called Reek in the shadows too. They stuffed her sister into a large box with wheels that was pulled by the four legged creatures. Laina screamed out her sister’s name, stretching her arm as far as she could out of the narrow slit. She heard her sister’s faint reply. She could not hear what the skinny woman said to the man with the eyes, but once they had exchanged words, the skinny woman got onto one of the four legged creatures and the next moment they were heading out beneath the gatehouse. They were taking her sister away from her!  
Laina screamed at them. She screamed her sister’s name. She screamed what words she knew. No one looked up at her. No one replied. Laina turned from the window and went back to the door. As she sank to the ground, she dragged her hands down the wood. She didn’t feel the splinters. She didn’t feel the pain. She didn’t feel the blood on her skin.  
Laina collapsed in a heap against the door. It was cold in her room, but she didn’t feel it. The bare boards she sat on jutted up into her bones. But she didn’t feel them. She didn’t feel anything. She was broken.

Reek watched the wheelhouse as it bounced away, the screams getting fainter and fainter. The courtyard fell silent. People stopped their work to watch the little monster leave. Despite what she’d done, Reek couldn’t help but taste the pity and sadness in the air. Even Laina’s scream’s had ceased. Reek panicked for a moment. What if the girl had done herself serious harm?  
 _“Enough. You should not care about either of them. No one matter’s except Master.”_ A voice spat at him. But the silence was so unsettling that it stirred up something, something he thought he had lost. _“No good will come of this.”_ Came a small voice. Reek whimpered. He heard a sniff from nearby and froze. “Was that for the best? It seems so cruel.” He heard Lady Walda cry softly. Reek watched Lord and Lady Bolton from behind a curtain of hair. “You surprise me my lady. I thought you would be glad to see the back of her.” Roose Bolton said coldly, never taking his eyes away from the retreating wheelhouse. Walda sniffed again. “She won’t attack you again.” Roose reassured her.  
 _She didn’t attack her in the first place._  
Reek was sure of that. When he had left Lady Walda in her chambers, the girls had still been on the stairs. And there had still been two girls following him down the hallway when Lady Bolton had been attacked.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leona arrives at her new home. Ramsay continues his quest to get his scream, and Ramsay always wins.

The next day, when Roose felt it was time, they went to Laina’s room. She didn’t move when she heard the key in the lock and she didn’t react when they shunted her out of the way to open the door. Laina didn’t look at them. Her eyes were dead and her skin white as a sheet. She could have been mistaken for a corpse had it not been for her lips that twitched. Had the men in the room been silent for a moment, they would have heard the girl’s mantra; _Leona, Leona, Leona._ Damon lifted the girl as easily as he might have lifted a feather pillow. Roose led the way into the keep where a proper set of chambers had been prepared for the child. It was in the large bed of these new chambers that they left her. She fell into a fitful sleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.

Lady Dustin had mentally prepared herself for what was to come. Roose had warned her about Leona’s behaviour and she had also questioned many of the servants. They had all given the same verdict; the child was wicked and evil.  
That was why the girl’s behaviour had come as such a shock.  
When they had opened the door of the wheelhouse, they had found her on its floor. She didn’t even look at them when they went to get her out and she walked quietly beside Barbrey, who held her hand firmly. At the entrance to the keep, she had halted and looked back over her shoulder, moving forward when she was told to. Perhaps Roose had been right. The two girls had just needed separating and they would soon realise they were separate beings.   
It took the night for Leona to react as her sister had done as soon as she’d realised they were being separated. When Leona awoke the next morning, in a strange room and by herself, she began her attack. The door was the first to take the beating, followed by the window. Fortunately, Lady Dustin had predicted the outburst. She had guards posted outside the door, which had been bolted, and the windows had been barred.  
Once the girl’s protests and sobs had silenced, Barbrey had entered the room. The child looked up at her with pleading eyes. This was good. It had been the first sign of a human emotion. Then Leona revealed her bloodied and torn hands. Shards of wood stuck out of them and she had managed to tear off a few nails. It appeared as though the door had won the fight.

Jeyne could hear Laina sobbing. One lonely child, crying into the night. _I should be crying too_ she thought. She twitched when she felt the cold blade being dragged down her stomach. “Now, wife. I want you to scream for me. Loudly. I want you to drown out the piteous cries of your daughter.” Ramsay growled menacingly. The feel of the blade biting into her flesh felt distant, as though she were watching it happen to someone else and could almost feel the pain herself. But she didn’t. _Daughter? I don’t have a daughter. I did once. But you took her away._ Jeyne wanted to cry. She wanted to wail and scream like that little girl. She wanted to take that knife and…  
 _Would I thrust it into his chest or my own?_  
She thought for a moment.  
“That’s enough Reek.” Ramsay snapped. She vaguely felt the tongue removing itself from between her legs. Her husband released an irritated sigh and rested his hand on her bloody stomach. She didn’t feel it. Ramsay pressed harder, forcing more blood out of the slit. “Listen wife, if you don’t scream, I will take my knife downstairs and slice your daughter’s throat open. Understand?” He was growing impatient now, she could tell. Jeyne’s eyes remained dead. She stared at him. “Or better yet,” His tone was playful now. Jeyne frowned slightly as he pressed the handle of the knife into her palm. “I’ll make you do it.” He smiled at her. Jeyne stared down at the knife in her hand. The handle was made of bone, worn smooth by years of service to its master. She looked up and caught Reek’s gaze. It was just for a moment. But she saw it. Those familiar blue eyes. _You said you would take me away from here. Away from him. But you lied._ Her grip on the knife tightened, but Reek returned before she could summon the strength to lunge forward. She loosened her grip on the handle of the knife and sunk further back into the pillows, averting her eyes from Reek and her sweet lord. Ramsay roared and grabbed her face, digging his fingers into her cheeks and forcing her head around. “Listen to me! I am your husband! You _will_ do as I ask!” He roared. Jeyne didn’t move. She stared into those cold, ghost grey eyes. Those eyes that had caused her so much pain and torment. Yet she couldn’t be scared now, not even if she tried. When she looked into those eyes now, all she felt was a sadness that tore her already broken heart into shreds.

Ramsay had never seen such a sight as this before. As he stared into those big brown eyes, he realised she did not fear him. He snatched the knife away from her. She was _broken_. Completely and utterly destroyed. He thought Reek was broken. He thought he had broken her years ago. But he realised now that this was a different kind of broken. This was a scene of total devastation. It was a broken that could only be caused by something you cared deeply for. Something you _loved_.  
Ramsay snarled and stood up, moving away from her, repulsed by the notion. He walked over to the cupboard, where he kept his favourite torture weapons. He stopped for a moment, thinking. Ramsay smiled. He opened the cupboard and pulled out a small stick. He hadn’t used it on Arya before because he knew the damage it could cause, and he needed a child off of her. Now though…  
He knew she would bear him no more children. His father knew that too. All she did was lie in bed, getting smaller and smaller, closer and closer to death each day.  
Ramsay turned to face her, holding up the stick so that she could see it. It wasn’t really a stick, truth be told. It had once been the end of a broom handle. The wood was sanded down so that it was smooth, but Ramsay had had small metal barbs screwed into the wood. The metal hooks and spikes were no larger than the end of his pinkie finger. He approached Arya, who lay on the bed, watching him. “Spread your legs for me, wife.” He ordered.  
Ramsay laughed as he finally got his scream.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laina tries to adapt to her sister's absence. Roose tries to start putting Winterfell to rights. Myranda is given a task that she is not happy about.

Over the next few days, Laina was spotted roaming through the keep, looking in the nooks and crannies, searching desperately for her sister. She had even dared to search outside her mother’s chambers. She had wondered whether the screams belonged to Leona. The nice smelly Reek man had appeared and shooed her away. Then she had wondered outside and gone as far across the grounds as she dared, slipping out of one of the smaller gates unnoticed. She had been gone so long on the first day that Roose sent Steelshanks Walton after her. He found her where the road to Winterfell met The Kingsroad. The girl had stared towards the South, somehow knowing that was the direction her sister was. When he found her, she had been dressed in nothing more than a cloak and linen shift. Her skin had been cold as ice, but she did not tremble in the cold wind. She allowed Steelshanks to lift her onto his horse and take her back to Winterfell. She didn’t stop staring southwards until they were back within its walls.  
Laina never wondered so far again.

The girl was completely unaware of her grandfather, who was watching her closely; waiting for his cue. Roose observed her behaviour and realised she now spent most of her time in the Godswood. He would sometimes allow himself to wonder what she did there. Sometimes. Most of the time however, Roose was running the North, and his son’s castles and lands. Ramsay didn’t even appear at meal times and Lady Arya’s screams had started up again. Roose did not try to stop him. Winterfell was better off without his son’s attempts at governing it.   
The running of Winterfell was worse than he had first thought. Many workers had left, or suffered a worse fate. The castle was falling down about their ears and now it looked as though they had a thief in their mists. The jewels that had gone missing were clearly down to Laina’s magpie-like tendencies. But a lot of food from the store cupboard had gone missing, and continued to do so daily, despite there being only one child that fed itself. He had questioned the servants; some more harshly than others. None of them had an explanation for the disappearing food. What’s more, none of them were lying. Roose Bolton could always tell. He would have put it down to his wife, but she only left her room at meal times, frightened by Arya’s screaming and paranoid about being attacked again, despite her attacker being many miles away.  
Roose Bolton took a moment to consider Leona. He had received no word from Lady Dustin. Perhaps that was a good thing. He stood up from his desk and moved over to the window. The sun was beginning to set, and Laina would be returning from her time in the Godswood soon, and it was time she began her lessons. Roose sighed. It shouldn’t be his job to raise a child, but no one else was willing to do it. He turned away from the window and made his way down to meet her. “You.” He barked at a passing serving wench. “Your name?” He asked her. He’d seen her before, but he had had no need to learn her name. “Myranda, m’lord.” The girl replied.  
“Wait here.” He ordered. Before stepping outside.

Myranda looked about the empty hallway in confusion. Why had he stopped her? What did he want? She hadn’t been wanted by anyone for what felt like years. Ramsay occasionally called on her for some fun with Reek or his bitch of a wife, but other than that, she had been forgotten about. Roose Bolton reappeared under the archway, with the girl by his side. Myranda gritted her teeth. If there was one thing she hated more than the wife, it was the twisted children. Ever since they’d arrived, people had expected her to be the one to look after them, seeing as the mother and father were busy. But why should she? It was her job to bed the father, not to put his children to bed. But now the Warden of the North was steering the little bitch towards her. Myranda looked down at it, trying her best to hide her disdain from Lord Bolton. “Take Laina, get her cleaned up and suitably dressed, then bring her back down to the main hall. She will dine with us this evening.” He informed. Myranda frowned and felt the blood drain from her face. The last time she had tried to tell the twins to do something, they had managed to knock her out. “Is something wrong?” Roose Bolton asked.  
“No, m’lord.” She replied. She would not allow herself to be frightened by a little girl. “Hello.” Came a small voice. Myranda looked down at the girl, shocked. She had never heard her speak before, at least not in the common tongue. Myranda glanced at Lord Bolton. He seemed surprised as well. “Hello.” Laina said again. Myranda wasn’t sure where the girl had learnt the word. “Hello?” Laina sounded unsure now. The repetition irritated Myranda. “Come m’lady.” She muttered, snatching the child’s hand and dragging her down the corridor’s towards the girl’s chambers.  
The girl sat still on the chair, allowing Myranda to run a comb through the tangled mess that was her hair. The child seemed to actually enjoy it; she was smiling. Myranda braided her hair, tugging roughly at the strands. That made the girl giggle. Typical. Of course Ramsay’s daughter would enjoy pain.  
Once the child was dressed and Myranda had scrubbed the dirt from the child’s face, she took the girl by the hand and dragged her towards the door. “You are ready m’lady.” Myranda muttered. When she stopped to close the door behind them, she felt the little girl squeeze her hand. “Thank you.” Laina said, looking up at her and smiling.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbrey observes Leona's behaviour. Reek has two shadows. Myranda's service is required in more ways than one.

Lady Dustin observed her charge whilst under the pretence she was working at her embroidery. Neither the pattern nor the child were making any progress. After the first day, Leona had fallen into some sort of catatonic state. She would go where you led her, eat what you gave her and sit still in the bath tub while you cleaned her. But she would not speak. Barbrey sometimes wondered if Leona knew that the people around her existed at all. Looking at her now, Barbrey was sure of that she did not. The girl stared into nothing, not even out of the window. The wall was apparently as alive as anything else in the room. It sent a chill through Lady Dustin. There was something inhuman about that gaze. The set of cold eyes that never blinked. _She’s simple._ It wasn’t the first time the thought had come to her, and it was completely possible. The girl had grown up with no one but her twin. Perhaps she had been hit in the head and had the wits knocked from her. With no one around to take care of them, there would have been no one to notice if she had fallen down the stairs. She could’ve wondered into the stables and gotten kicked in the head by a horse. Or the reason could lie within her blood. The bastard was the cruellest kind of insane a man could be. It was a possibility that he had passed some of his madness on to his child. But with Leona in her trance, it was impossible to tell whether she was the wicked monster everyone believed her to be, or if she was just a simpleton.  
Barbrey wondered whether or not Roose was getting along any better with the other child. She had sent no word to him because she had no words. There was nothing to report. There was _nothing._   
Barbrey sighed and placed the embroidery in the basket beside her. She could not return to Lord Bolton with the same badly behaved child she had left with. The girl would learn, one way or another.   
She stood up and made her way towards the child.

Roose was making good progress with the other twin. She did not say much, but her vocabulary was growing. No one was sure how. She spent most of her days in the Godswood alone. Some fools believed the Old Gods were teaching her words. There were even whispers that she was playing with the Children of the forest; that they had appeared again to guide the child. Some people claimed to have heard several children laughing and playing. No one suggested these ideas to Roose Bolton, of course.

Sometimes, when he wasn’t with his Master, she would find Reek. They would say nothing to each other. In fact, Reek hardly saw her most of the time. But she would shadow him as he made his way around the castle, collecting a meal for his Master or a new torture weapon to be used on Lady Arya. Reek always sensed when she was following him and it put him on edge. He didn’t dare to shoo her away; Master had not given him permission to do that and someone might see and tell him what Reek had done.

Laina ate with her grandfather and grandmother at mealtimes, always knowing when it was time to come in and be prepared for a meal. She allowed Myranda to bath her and take care of her. For some reason, she seemed to like Myranda best. The girl would always smile when she saw Myranda waiting for her at mealtimes, which Myranda always did. Myranda would not go as far as to say she _liked_ the child, but she did enjoy the company. Laina always gave Myranda her fullest attention and, without words, would admire her clothing; touching the silk dresses and staring for as long as she could at the jewels around the dainty neck. It was the first time in a long time that anyone had paid Myranda this much attention, and it was perhaps the first time she had ever been adored.

One afternoon however, someone else required Myranda’s service.   
Ramsay had ordered Reek to bring her to him and she had gone willingly; already bored by the company his men provided. They all had cocks and were more brutal than normal men, but none of them compared to Ramsay. But what had greeted her in his chambers was enough to shock her. Ramsay had brought one of his dogs in, it had been at Arya already. Bite-marks and sores covered the woman’s thighs and cunt. There was a stench of rotten meat in the air, left over from what Ramsay had stuffed between his wife’s legs, no doubt. She had asked him about it, in an approving tone of course. “My wife’s belly seems to have been such a nice place for my sons that they never wished to come out, so I’m redecorating.” He had laughed. He’d sounded like a child; a spoilt boy that hadn’t gotten his way, and so was making sure he did in future. He had made Myranda shove her hand inside his wife and use her nails to scratch and tear, though there was no place that could be reached that was not already ruined. When Myranda had told him she would rather please him, and him alone, he had gone wild; threatening to shove some spiked stick up her own cunt if she didn’t do as he’d bid. So she did, with him forcing himself into her from behind all the while. She’d tried her best to focus on that instead of the blood that had covered her hands and lower arms, and Arya’s pathetic whining.  
Once Ramsay had climaxed, he’d pushed her out of the way and ordered the dog to clean Arya up. Again. What was worse was that he had then turned to Myranda and ordered her to do the same, staring at her arm that was covered with blood.  
Myranda could still taste it.  
By the time they were done and Ramsay dismissed her, it was almost time for her to meet Laina. Myranda hurried down to the entrance of the keep and waited. Laina didn’t appear. Myranda frowned, then shrugged. She would go and find her. A walk in the fresh air helped to cleanse her and she felt refreshed by the time she was in the Godswood.   
She found Laina beneath the Weirwood tree, with a bunch of sad looking flowers in her hand, staring into the trees. “Laina? You’re late.” Myranda called, not ungently. “Where have you been?” She asked, not expecting an answer.  
“We played in the woods.” Laina replied, smiling when she saw Myranda. Myranda stopped, surprised. _Don’t be shocked, she’s just a child._ “You should say _I_ played in the woods.” Myranda corrected sternly.  
“ _I_ played in the woods.” Laina repeated.  
“And what did you play?” Myranda asked. This was good. Perhaps, if Lord Bolton knew she was teaching the girl, she would be rewarded. _I won’t have to shove my hand into someone’s bloody cunt again._ “We picked some flowers.” Laina said, clutching the flowers in her hands tightly.  
“It’s _I,_ not _we_ , fool. Your twin isn’t with you anymore, remember? She’s far away. Come on.” Myranda put a firm hand on Laina’s arm and guided her out of the Godswood.

Later that night, as she was tucking Laina to bed, Myranda asked “What did you do with your flowers?” She prayed they had not been hidden somewhere in the room. She didn’t want to find them a month later and have to clean them up when they were covered in flies. “We saved them for Leona.” The girl said, closing her eyes and drifting into sleep. Myranda stood up. It suddenly felt colder. _We saved them for Leona._ Shivering, Myranda fled from the room.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reek is suffering from torments. Both internal and from those around him. His shadows close in on him.

_I should kill her_ he thought. _While they sleep, I should do her a kindness and smother her with a pillow_.  
Reek whined and shook his head violently in an attempt to remove the thoughts from his head. They were beginning to come to him more often now. Those poisoned words, that toxic voice. It promised him pain. Not death. He had never been that lucky. _He’d know. If I killed her, he’d know it was me._   
Reek watched as Ramsay launched another attack on his wife, feeling glad that he hadn’t been asked to join in. Yet.  
 _I’d lose a finger.  
_ Jeyne screamed.  
 _Or a toe.  
_ She begged him for mercy.  
 _Or he’d use me in her place.  
_ Reek knew which was worse, and which his Master would choose. He averted his eyes from the bed into the empty fireplace, trying to block out the grunts, growls and screams. He should get the fire lit. It was cold in Jeyne’s chambers. _It’s always cold in Jeyne’s chambers._

Eventually, his Master had need of him. “Clean me up Reek.” Ramsay ordered. The moment Reek heard the voice, Theon was scared back into his hiding place. Reek scrambled forward on his hands and knees in a desperate rush to reach his Master before Ramsay grew angry with him. He cleaned his Master with his tongue and his mouth, because dogs didn’t have hands. “And my wife, Reek.” Ramsay said softly, caressing Reek’s curls. Reek looked up at his Master. _“Please.”_ He had to bite his tongue to stop from saying it. _“Please, don’t make me go to her.”_ But Ramsay knew how much his pet disliked it, so Reek received a cruel smile. “Go and clean my wife up Reek.” Master ordered. Reek crawled over to the bed and leapt onto it. Immediately, Jeyne’s whimpering ceased. She fixed him with a pair of cold brown eyes. “ _You said you would take me away from here. Away from him. But you lied.”_ They screamed. “ _It wasn’t my fault. I wanted to get away too. But the Bolton’s beat Stannis, and they caught us.”_ Reek whimpered. When he felt Jeyne twitch and then force herself to remain still as he licked her clean, he wanted to retch.  
 _A man would save her.  
_ No! He had thought this before. He had tried to be a man before. He had tried to redeem himself before. And look what had become of them both; almost seven years of pain and torment. _I can’t let it happen again._ She was Lady Arya, of House Stark, as he was Reek, it rhymed with…  
“REEK!” He heard Ramsay roar. He stopped licking immediately. How had he not heard his Master’s voice? Reek leapt off of the bed, ignoring the pain in his hand and knees as he hit the floor. He flopped and scrabbled to his Master, rubbing his face against Ramsay’s leg in hope of forgiveness. Reek squealed as his Master wrenched his head back by a fistful of hair. “Did you enjoy that my pet? Did you enjoy looking after my wife? Were you trying to _please_ her?” Ramsay’s tone was dangerously kind. _Be careful_. “No Master! I am your Reek! Good Reek! Loyal Reek! It rhymes with weak, meek and…”  
“Are you saying you didn’t enjoy my wife? Did she not make you happy, sweet pet?” Reek stared up at his Master, flabbergasted. _What does he want?_ Reek whined, thinking desperately, searching for an answer. “Oh Reek, my sweet fool! I was simply jesting!” Ramsay laughed, tussling his pet’s hair. “You may leave us for now Reek. Come back later with my dinner.” Reek whispered his thanks, but Ramsay was already heading back towards the bed. Without hesitation, Reek fled the room, fearing his Master would change his mind and call him back.   
He could sense his shadow following as he wondered through the castle. Laina kept to the shadows. He never turned around. He couldn’t risk being seen communicating with the child. It didn’t mean he couldn’t hear her though.   
She was giggling. It sounded almost as though there were two of them, muttering things to one another. It no longer hurt when people laughed at him. In fact it was a daily occurrence.  
But this was different.  
Hearing the laughter of little girls reminded him of painful memories of when there used to be three little girls in the castle. One was wild and unruly, always causing trouble. But the other two had been inseparable; always laughing together, gossiping, dreaming, and stealing lemon cakes…

Theon shivered in the cold air. The Godswood hadn’t always been this cold, but these were different times. He found himself standing before the Weirwood tree, beside the spot where Lord Eddard would sharpen Ice. _The sword that could’ve killed me._ No. _The sword that should’ve killed me._ It was true, and death at the hand of a man he had wished was a father would have been a blessing…  
 _What have I become?  
_ Theon fell to his knees and wept. He knew there was no use in praying. His God was far away and he had never listened to him anyway. _There are no Gods, and if there are, they are crueller than Ramsay._ Theon’s sobs caused his whole body to shudder, and he clutched his chest, as though he had just felt his heart for the first time in a long while. He let the tears rip him apart. He cried for the Stark’s, and the rest. He still remembered the way Asha’s eyes had glassed over, the anger and betrayal fading from them as Ramsay sliced her open and made Theon pull out her entrails and throw them on the fire. He remembered Jon; saved by the Red woman’s kiss only to be burned alive as Ramsay laughed at the irony of it. “Kissed by fire.” Ramsay and his men had chanted, before he ordered Theon to light the pyre. He remembered young Rickon too, when he had been found. He met the fate that he would have done had it been him and not the two orphans back when he had been the Prince of Winterfell. Ramsay made him kill him too. “Reek killed the boy before, Reek can kill him now too.” He had laughed. And Reek had done it, but Theon remembered…  
“Theon.” Came a small voice. Theon looked up, and wiped away his tears. For a moment, he thought the tree had spoken. But the mouth remained still; it gaped open, waiting for the wail of grief that never came. “Theon.” The voice was clearer now, and he realised that it was coming from behind him. He looked over his shoulder. His heart stopped. Behind him stood not one shadow, but two.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roose holds a feast. Ramsay's behaviour is frighteningly good and he makes a strange introduction. Theon finds a friend.

The Lords and Ladies gathered in the courtyard whilst the Warden of the North spoke. Ramsay tuned out, focusing instead on his pet. For once, Reek wasn’t looking at him. Instead, he stared towards the centre of the courtyard at the body. But there was something more in the creatures’ eyes. He wasn’t present. If he was, he would have noticed his Master looking at him. Was it grief? No. The two had grown distant. Ramsay believed there had even been a little resentment there. “It’s alright Reek. At least you won’t have to share me now.” Ramsay whispered to him. Reek flinched. “Yes Master.” His pet replied. Ramsay smirked, but then noticed that his pet remained distant. He would have time to ask him about that later, but now he was needed. His father nodded to him and Ramsay turned to his men and repeated the order. They moved forward and picked up the body. He wasn’t sure how he felt when he looked at it. He had not given her permission to die, and when it happened he’d felt an overwhelming sense of anger and frustration. He’d taken it out on the body, then his room and then Reek. His father had had to send in his men to restrain him until he calmed down. By the time the men had reached the raging Lord, it had been too late for Lady Arya. It seemed strange that she looked healthier in death than she had looked in life. “Death becomes you, wife.” He whispered to her as he carried her towards the crypt. Reek led the way. He had been the only one that had known where it was. Ramsay hadn’t wanted to bury her there. He hadn’t wanted Reek to go down there either. “He was the one to give her to you, so he can be the one to lead her to peace.” His father had argued. “She must be buried in the crypts. She is a Stark, after all.”  
The crypts stank of Starks. The old Kings of the North glared down at them as they passed. In front of him, Ramsay could hear Reek whimpering. His pet stopped abruptly. “Keep going Reek.” Ramsay growled. His wife wasn’t heavy, but Ramsay did not wish to be in the crypts longer than he needed to be. He could sense that his men felt the same. Lady Arya was laid to rest beside her father. Ramsay had to stifle a laugh as his gaze met Lord Eddard’s stony glare. _Your true daughter’s rotting dead in a ditch somewhere, my Lord, so this steward’s whelp will have to serve. You don’t mind, do you?_ He thought. He smirked at the stone Lord, then he heard Reek whimper again. Turning, he spotted his pet staring into an empty space where a tomb should be. “Would you like me to get his bones and bury him in his true place, Reek?” Ramsay asked, hooking an arm around his pet’s thin shoulders. Reek stared at him, shocked. “I’m afraid we’ve lost his skull, but we can always find another wolfs head. That would serve. Would you like that Reek?” Ramsay’s men chuckled.   
“I only want what you want Master.” Reek replied, his voice quivering.  
“Well then, what we want will have to wait. I have guests to see Reek! I cannot spend all of my time with you! Don’t be so selfish.” Ramsay laughed as Reek cowered from his scolding. “Let’s get out of here. The scent of dead wolves is making me want to retch.” Ramsay’s men cheered as he led the way from the crypts.

Roose observed the scene before him. The Great Hall was fuller than it had been in a long time, but that did not mean that it was noisy. People still mourned the loss of the Lady of Winterfell, despite the fact they had not seen the woman for years. Roose hoped the mood would lift soon. And he was about to find out. Silence fell as the doors were flung open. The serving girl Myranda held Laina tightly by the hand, leading her in some of the way. Then she let go. Everyone stared at the young girl. Roose was relieved to see that there was no sense of bewilderment in the girls ghost grey eyes. She walked through the centre of the tables, in the sight of all the guests. Her hair was brushed and clean, tumbling down her back in neat, dark brown curls. She wore a dress of grey silk, in memory of her mother. Not that she knew that. Laina looked at Roose, recalling his instructions. She walked up to the dais and curtsied neatly. The room remained silent. Roose heard the scrape of a chair against the floor and turned to see Ramsay standing from his place at the table. Roose said nothing. He couldn’t. As his son moved around the table and approached the child, Roose wondered what he was planning.  
The room held its breath.  
Ramsay knelt before the girl and grasped her shoulders with his large hands. Roose narrowed his eyes slightly and grasped the arm of his chair a little tighter. Ramsay pulled the girl towards him and kissed her, almost fondly, on the cheek. He smiled, as did Laina. “Lords and Ladies!” Ramsay called, standing up, but keeping a firm hand on the girl’s shoulder. “May I introduce Laina Bolton, my daughter.” To Roose’s relief, the people cheered. As Ramsay led his daughter down to meet the Lords and Ladies, Roose ordered Steelshanks over to him. “Send word to Lady Dustin. Tell her to send the other one back.” Steelshanks nodded and moved away. Roose returned to watching his granddaughter.

Reek left the Great Hall while Laina was being introduced to the Lords and Ladies. _Ramsay has a new pet_ Reek thought. He shuddered, but wasn’t sure whether it was from that thought or the cold. Only the moon watched him as he crossed the courtyard towards one of the defence towers. All of the guards had gone indoors, to get their share of meat and mead. He hurried up the stairs, ignoring his aching joints. He wouldn’t have long. If he spent too much time away, his Master would notice.

Theon locked the door behind him and pulled out the food he had hidden. He moved across the room where she waited for him and settled the stolen meat down in front of her, before sitting down himself. The girl picked at the food delicately and chewed small mouthfuls. She stared at him with her curious gaze, assessing who he was today. “Hello Theon.” She said at last. Theon still flinched as he tried to crush Reek’s protests. Vyda continued regardless. “Are you ready for my story, Theon?”  


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s your story then, Theon?” She asked, fixing him with her cold eyes. He looked away. “I don’t have a story.” He lied.  
> “Everybody has a story. If you keep it to yourself it dies and comes back to haunt you.” He lifted his sad blue eyes to meet her gaze.

The woman’s name was Rana. She was a whore that had grown up in winter town. Her mother was a whore too, the highlight of her life being that she fucked a member of the Kings guard when King Robert came to Winterfell. Not Jaime Lannister, though it wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried. Rana had been too young to be of any use back when the King had visited, but by the time the Starks were gone and Winterfell had burned, she had lost count of the number of men she’d fucked. When the Bolton’s had marched to Winterfell, Rana followed the troops to the castle and soon was walking, bow legged, through the ruins that Lord and Lady Stark had walked through once. It was quite an achievement for a girl of fifteen. She was pretty, in a common sort of way. And she was good at her job. These factors made her almost every man’s first choice.  
She wasn’t Ramsay’s though. He’d already raped and killed five women by the time he reached her. After he discovered his wife and Reek were missing, he had gone on the rampage; attacking both men and women on a path of destruction he made through the ruins of Winterfell. Perhaps it was the whores luck, or fate, that one of Ramsay’s men found him and told him they’d found his wife and Reek. They hadn’t, but that didn’t matter to Rana. She lived. But a piece of Ramsay had stayed with her. Perhaps it was because there was an army at the walls, or that the only woman that mattered had needed to get with child. Either way, the ingredients could not be found to brew any moon tea. By the time the child was born, Stannis had been defeated and Rana fled back to winter town before anyone noticed the child’s queer set of ghost grey eyes.   
Rana loved her child, despite how she came to be. The girl grew up in a brothel; cleaning during the day and hiding in the attic at night. When she was four, she met a man who taught her to read and write, so she would practise that as the whores worked. She asked her mother about her father, simply out of curiosity. Her mother told her nothing. When she was six, her mother died of a fever. A child was the last thing needed in a brothel. “Where will I go?” The child had cried as they’d thrown her meagre bag into her hands. The owner of the brothel had grabbed her by the hair and dragged her before the looking glass. “There’s your answer.” He’d spat. “Go back to your father, Snow. We don’t need more mouths to feed.” He’d spat as he shoved her out into the cold.  
“And so you came here?” Theon asked Vyda. She nodded. “And it was you who stole the food?” She nodded again. “And you attacked Lady Walda?” Reek squealed and scampered away as she threw a chunk of rock at him.    
There was silence for a moment as Theon pushed Reek away and crawled back over to her. “What’s your story then, Theon?” She asked, fixing him with her cold eyes. He looked away. “I don’t have a story.” He lied.  
“Everybody has a story. If you keep it to yourself it dies and comes back to haunt you.” He lifted his sad blue eyes to meet her gaze. He knew her eyes were cold, but what was there froze him to the core. She stood up and moved away from him. “You should go Reek, your master will have need of you soon.” She picked up one of the books he had found her and began to read, not raising her eyes as Reek left the room.

Reek hobbled down the corridors, trying desperately to forget. _Everybody has a story. If you keep it to yourself it dies and comes back to haunt you._ He felt tears stinging his eyes. _Everyone knows the story of Theon Turncloak, and Reek doesn’t have a story. Reek only has master_ who, to his horror, was already in his chamber when Reek stumbled through the doorway. “My Reek! You’ve come to me at last!” He called from the bed where he lay. Reek immediately dropped to his hands and knees and crawled over to his Master. To his surprise, Ramsay didn’t get up, he simply dropped his hand down. Without hesitation, Reek began to lick and kiss it. Suddenly, before Reek knew what was happening, Ramsay grabbed him and pulled him up onto the bed, pinning him down beneath him. “Please Master…please…” Reek whimpered as Ramsay pressed down into him.   
“You’re late Reek.” Ramsay growled softly, pushing down so deep into his pet that Reek thought he would disappear into the feather mattress.   
“I’m sorry Master…please…forgive your Reek…ple…” Reek was cut off when Ramsay covered his mouth with his own. When his master pulled away, Reek gasped, both in shock and in need of air. “Where have you been pet?” Ramsay smiled menacingly and allowed his hands to wonder down to the space between Reek’s legs. Reek didn’t know what to say. He whimpered and cried out as Ramsay pressed his finger in. “I…I…I was in the defence tower!” He howled. Ramsay removed his hand immediately. “And what were you doing there pet? Has it fallen to you to protect my castle? I must hire more men! Gods help us if we have to rely on you to guard Winterfell!” Ramsay laughed. He seemed to forget his question and brought his lips back down onto Reek’s. He had kissed Reek before, but this was different. It was no longer rough. When Ramsay pulled away, there was no blood. For the first time in years, his master touched him and kissed him almost gently. There was no underlying anger of frustration, and Reek found himself clinging to his master, longing for this new found closeness. “Oh, my Reek. Have you missed me all these years? Did you hate having to share me with that useless wife of mine? Well, now you don’t have to.” Ramsay pulled away. Had Theon not hidden himself so deep inside Reek, he would have felt an unbearable amount of shame, for as Ramsay pulled away, Reek clung to him, longing for his master’s mouth again. Ramsay laughed, his cold eyes shining. “Do you love me, Reek?” Ramsay asked.  
“Yes, of course master. I am your Reek. I will always be your Reek.” He answered without hesitation.  
“Show me then.” His master ordered, grinning. Theon whimpered as Reek obliged.  


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roose receives a granddaughter and a raven. He isn't sure which is worse.

“I tried, my Lord.” Was all Lady Dustin said. The girl stared up at her grandfather in sullen silence. “Take Leona up to her chambers. See that she is fed.” Roose ordered and Myranda obeyed, despite her hatred for the child. Leona made no attempt to resist Myranda as she was led away. “I thank you for your help, Lady Dustin.” Roose muttered as he watched the child go inside.   
“You won’t be thanking me once she has had rest. There is wickedness in that child, Lord Bolton, and try as I might I could not purge her of it. It’s in her blood.” Barbrey admitted.  
“I shall decide what is to be done with her soon enough. Will you stay here before you return to Barrowton? There is room enough for you and your men.”  
“I thank you for the offer, but no. Sleeping beneath the roof of two monsters is more than I can stand.” Roose did not show it, but he was surprised by her bluntness. It was not the way she should speak to her liege Lord. Clearly, the time she had spent with his granddaughter had done them both more harm than good. “Goodbye Lord Bolton.” She turned away and mounted her chestnut courser before Roose could bid her farewell. As she rode out beneath the gatehouse, he spotted a man running towards him from the maester’s chambers. “M’lord!” He called. He knelt before his Lord, gasping for breath, and held up a letter. “What is it?” Roose asked, taking the parchment and picking at the pink wax.  
“News from the Dreadfort, m’lord.” Roose Bolton read the letter and went inside without another word.

Laina was playing in the Godswood. She stopped and lifted her head. She sniffed the air, and began to head back to the keep. People stopped to watch as she walked through the courtyard, into the keep and up the stairs into her chambers without breaking her stride.   
That first night the twins spent clinging to each other; gazing into each other’s eyes, blinking in unison. The connection began to heal, but the wounds they’d suffered would leave scars, as most deep wounds do. To Leona, the time she had spent away from her sister had not existed. It was simply a black hole. She did not know whether it had lasted ten years or ten seconds. For Laina it was different. She had adapted to her sister’s absence. At first it had been hard and it had hurt; like someone who had lost a limb. It hurt at first, but the wound would heal and they would carry on with life.  
But Leona did not yet know about the change in her sister and for now, they were content with having each other once more.

Without Theon or Laina, Vyda’s evening was a lonely one. She had finished all the books Theon had found for her and the window in the abandoned defence tower was so small it was almost impossible to look out of it, and the view never changed anyway. Besides playing with Laina in the Godswood, Vyda’s days had grown rather dull. Theon hardly visited. Reek did. He would bring her food, then scurry back to his master. More often than not now, she didn’t even see him, he would just leave the meal outside her door. It was one of these meals she was picking at now. She missed Theon. As another cry of grief rang out from somewhere inside the castle, Vyda pushed the plate of food away and hugged her knees tightly. She began to sing to herself quietly.

Back at the Dreadfort, Roose had thought his son’s screams had been irritating. He would gladly have them ringing through the castle all night rather than his wife’s incessant sobbing. But there was nothing he could do to stop her. _Dark wings, dark words_ the saying went. And over these past few months it had rung true. First he had received word that Ramsay was failing to rule, now his son was dead. A fever had taken him, apparently. His wife didn’t believe that though. And now the Dreadfort had fallen into chaos, unsure of what to do without their Lord. “My Lord.” Roose turned his head to see Steelshanks standing in the doorway. “I’m sorry for your loss.” The man didn’t sound sorry, but Roose did not take it as a slight.   
“Inform the men that we are to return to the Dreadfort. I plan to leave before the week is out.” Roose ordered.  
“Yes my Lord.” Steelshanks bowed his head and left. Roose took a sip of wine. He could not stay here forever. At least one of the girls had learned how to be a lady. He could organise a marriage for her when she came of age. His spies would tell him when that time came. The other one…only time would tell. If she got too out of hand he would have to deal with her. So far though, she had caused no trouble. Barbrey’s methods appeared to have mellowed her slightly. Roose just hoped that was enough.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost seven years have passed since Roose Bolton left Winterfell. The girls have reached womanhood and decisions must be made.

Despite her failure to make Leona into a normal young lady, Barbrey Dustin had been right about one thing. Not that she lived to see it.  
The years chewed away at the walls of Winterfell like they did at Ramsay Bolton’s mind. He had always been cruel, but he had always known what he was doing. Now though, he never seemed to realise when he caused someone pain. The only person who could restore his wits long enough to bring him under control was Reek. But that did not mean he escaped unscathed.  
Winterfell had returned to the state it had fallen into seven years ago, before Roose Bolton had last visited. However, only two workers now remained. An old Reek and a bow legged Myranda. Some of the Bastard’s boys remained too. Ben Bones was dead, but the others were alive. The rest of the servants had fled, died, or both, considering what mood Ramsay had been in at the time.  
And the girls in all of this?  
As they grew up, they looked less and less alike and the people that remained were able to tell them apart. Leona was a serious child, always the one to make decisions and looked after her sister. Laina was as simple as she’d been when she was six. They had not escaped Ramsay either, though his mood changed with his bouts of insanity. Sometimes, rare as it was, he was almost _nice_.

One day, when the girls were little older than ten years, he’d walked in on them fighting over a chunk of stale bread and a pathetic excuse for a chicken leg. Laina had gained the bread and stuffed it into her mouth, resulting in Leona tackling her to the floor in a confusion of dirty clothes, unwashed legs and greasy, unbraided hair. They had not eaten for two days. Leona won the piece of bread back and the fighting resumed over what remained of the chicken. They never even heard the footsteps. “What’s this?” The voice was so quiet, they barely heard it. Perhaps it was the sense of danger that caused them to stop fighting. They immediately turned to face the doorway where Ramsay stood with Reek at his side. Leona wiped the grease from her hands onto her dress. Laina followed suit. “Well?” Ramsay turned to Reek, expectantly.  
“Your daughters, Master.” Reek muttered, not looking at them. Ramsay blinked several times. “Really?” He sounded almost surprised. “They’ve grown.” Ramsay pointed out. He pulled out his flaying knife, tracing the worn bone that the handle was made out of. “Come here.” He ordered, smiling brightly. Everyone apart from Ramsay watched the blade as he waved it around, the metal shining with evil intent. Leona moved first. Once again, Laina followed. Ramsay lifted a matted lock of hair, unperturbed when Leona shrank away slightly. His fingers tightened. The girl tensed, waiting for his mood to turn or for him to forget his strength. “Which one are you?” He asked softly.  
“L…Leona, my lord.” She replied with every courtesy.  
“And you?” He turned to look at Laina.  
“That’s Laina.” Leona answered.  
“Why are you not at your lessons? My father is teaching you, is he not? He said he would!” Ramsay exclaimed, becoming irritated. Leona looked to Reek in desperation. “Your father has left, Master. He went yesterday afternoon.” Theon lied. Ramsay turned on him instantly. “I can always tell when you are lying Reek.” He growled. They held their breath, waiting for their lord to strike out. “My father left the day _before_ yesterday, not yesterday afternoon. Are you trying to confuse me Reek?” Reek cowered from the ice cold gaze.  
“S…sorry Master…I…I forgot.” Reek insisted. The coldness in Ramsay’s eyes receded a little and he turned back to the girls. “What is that behind your back, Leona?” He asked gently, cocking his head to one side. Leona knew better than to hesitate. As soon as Ramsay saw the meat in Leona’s hand, he grabbed her wrist and growled “Where did you find that? When was the last time you ate?”  
“When your father left, my lord. It was in the kitchens!” Leona answered, her voice trembling.  
“Did you steal it? Be quiet!” He bellowed before they had the chance to reply. “I should have Damon whip you so hard you won’t be able to sit down until it snows in Dorne!” The girl did not tremble, nor did she cry out as his grip bit into her flesh. She didn’t dare blink away the tears though. She continued to meet his gaze whilst one ran down her cheek. “Where is their mother?” Ramsay growled, turning to Reek. “I’ll teach her for abandoning her children!” The room was silent.  
It was the first time Ramsay had forgotten what had happened to his wife.  
“Master, Lady Arya is dead.” Reek muttered. The silence continued. “What?” Ramsay gasped. He met each gaze, his eyes filled with disbelief. “Why did no one tell me?” His voice was no higher than a whisper. For a terrifying moment, it looked as though Ramsay Bolton was going to cry. Only for a moment. He straightened himself. “Reek, give these two food and find them some new clothes.” He stared down at Leona for a moment, as though puzzled, then marched from the room.  
After that meeting, they did their best to listen for his footsteps, and flee before he could find them.  

Myranda turned the letter over in her fingers. The pink wax and the flayed man betrayed its contents. Now doubt Lord Bolton had assumed his granddaughters had come of an age to be married. They had bled as they did everything else; Leona first, then Laina. She had been the one to explain to them what had happened. Laina had stared wide eyed at her sheets. Leona, on the other hand, seemed less surprised.  
She wondered where they were now as she made her way through the castle with the letter. The keep was silent, thank the Gods. It was when she could hear those heavy footsteps that she would have cause to fear. It was strange how the girl she had once feared had now become a bearable companion, whilst the man she had once found company with was now the one she feared.   
Skinner was the first one she came across. He was feeding what few animals they had in the yard. “Skinner!” She called, striding across the courtyard. He turned away from her. “What do you want?” He growled.   
“There was a raven from the Dreadfort.” She muttered when she was close enough. He looked at her then and took the letter from her hands. “You shouldn’t be giving that to me.” He shoved it back at her.  
“Who else am I going to give it to? Our lord? I wonder if he will even remember whose sigil it is.” She snapped.  
“Fine.” He spat and snatched the letter back, tearing it open.  
“So? Who are they to marry?” She asked, glancing around the courtyard, expecting to see them both peering out at them.  
“No one.” He replied, his voice barely higher than a whisper. Myranda turned back to face him and was shocked by how pale he had become. “What is it? What’s happened?” She would have grabbed the letter and read it herself if she’d known how to read.  
“Lord Bolton is dead.” The silence swallowed them and the courtyard grew slightly colder.

“Let our son go. He should have lands of his own and learn how to rule. He can’t do that here.” Margaery insisted, pouring herself more wine.  
“The Northmen will follow strength and strength alone. They won’t follow a ten year old boy. I can’t risk it.” King Tommen argued. He read through the letter again. “It has been decided that Robert will go to your brother in Highgarden. He can learn there.”  
“Very well my King. Who do you suggest we appoint as Warden of the North?” The Queen asked softly. Tommen thought for a moment. _What would my grandfather do?_ “Ramsay Bolton.”  
They both laughed.  
“Or Butterbumps?” They laughed again. Tommen’s laughter soon guttered out. _Who?_ He sighed in frustration. “What is it my love?” His wife asked.  
“I don’t know who to choose.” He admitted.  
“Then allow me to choose for you.” She took his hand in her own. “My brother, Garlan. He has his lands in Blackwater Keep, I know. But say the word and he would do as you bid. He is strong and he could hold the North for you.” She assured him.  
“You know wife, sometimes I think you make these suggestions just to hear my mother scream in her tower on the Rock.” She smiled knowingly at him. It was a private joke they shared frequently. “You are right of course. Send word to your brother. But tell him to be wary of Bolton. He may not allow Garlan to take his fathers title so easily.” Tommen said, smiling at her wearily.   
“I will send word in the morning. But first, husband, to bed.” She commanded. Tommen obeyed.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winterfell receives word of King Tommen's decision and must prepare to pledge fealty to the new Warden of the North.

She knew something was wrong the moment she saw Myranda’s face. For Laina’s sake, she waited until they had a moment alone before she spoke. Leaving Laina to fold up the clean clothes, she followed Myranda from the room. “What is it? What’s wrong?” She asked, taking in the old whores pained expression.  
“There’s been a raven, from King’s Landing.” Myranda informed, knowing better than to lie to her.  
“Well, what did it say?”  
“Read it yourself, Leona. I don’t have time for all of this.” Myranda thrust the letter into her hands and shifted the basket of clean linen onto her other hip before hurrying off down the hallway. She tore open the letter and drank in the words. _Lord Garlan Tyrell will be named warden of the North. All Northern Lords will pledge their fealty to him._ Father would not like this at all. _If he even knew what any of it meant._ She carried on reading. The bottom half was written in a different hand and Lord Garlan’s signature had been added beneath it. _I shall arrive at Winterfell first to accept an oath of fealty from Ramsay Bolton, the Lord of Winterfell._ She shivered. How could her father pledge an oath of fealty to the new Warden of the North if he thought the old one was still alive. _He will refuse to do it, then he will attack this southerner and our heads will be skewered onto the walls of Winterfell._ Something had to be done.   
She hid the letter behind her back as she heard Laina approached. “What are you doing?” Laina asked.  
“Nothing. Go back to your clothes. I will find you later.” She reassured. Laina bowed her head obediently and went back into her room. She returned to her letter. _Father can wait. First we must get the castle fit for the Queen’s brother._ She looked around. _Old Gods, give me strength.  
_ She was going to need it.

“I’m not sure about this.” Damon protested. She gave him a warning look. “My Lady.” He added quickly.   
“We have no other choice.” She argued. It was true, they didn’t. It had to work. “Alyn, help me onto my horse.” She ordered. The mare was gentle enough, but she was still nervous. The castle walls were the furthest she had ventured in a long time and she had only ridden around the yard a few times when the men were feeling kind. They fell in around her as they rode out of the gate. “What if they refuse?” Skinner asked. She had thought of that already. “We don’t have a choice and neither do they. They are Northerners. They would rather us than a Southern Lord.” She replied, in a voice that hid her anxiety.  
“Lady Leona, the people bear no love for us. Why should we them?” Sour Alyn growled. _Lady Leona._ “House Bolton will not fall to ruin. My grandfather did not work this hard for us to fall as soon as he did. And because if we do not impress these Southern Lords, they will not treat us kindly. They won’t trust us neither.” _You sound like a commoner._ She had to be better. “Where do you get all this worldly wisdom from?” Damon spat.  
“I read a book. And you should address me as My Lady.” She reminded him.  
“As you say, _My Lady.”_ He grumbled. She ignored him. They were fast approaching winter town. Once again, she felt the butterflies take flight and hammer at the inside of her stomach. _How did you never feel fear father? I wish you could remember._ She wished it was him in her place. The people would not dare to refuse him. A fourteen year old girl was hardly an imposing sight. As they rode into the small town, the people peered out at them with a mixture of curiosity, fear and hatred. “Wait here.” She ordered, continuing down the familiar dirt road.  
“My Lady, we will be more of a threat if we are together.” Sour Alyn insisted, eyeing the faces.  
“We are hardly a threatening force Alyn.” She insisted and continued riding forward. The men remained where she had told them to, with their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, ready for the first spark of trouble. “People of winter town, I ask for your attention.” _Do not ask, command._ The asking seemed to work though. One by one, the people filtered out to gather round her, keeping a safe distance from both the men and from her. “I am Lady Leona Bolton, daughter of Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell.” They did not dare to mutter, but she could see it in their eyes. _They bear no love for me, this was a terrible idea._ “I…I need your help.” She stuttered. They stared up at her, questioningly. She even thought she glimpsed some amusement. _They are enjoying seeing me fail._ “Lord Roose Bolton is dead. I have received word from King’s Landing that they are sending another Lord to take his position as Warden of the North.”  
“And why, pray tell, was your father not chosen?” Came a gruff voice from near the front of the crowd. She shivered. _He’s still alive._ “My father is…unwell. He is not fit to assume such a position.” It wasn’t really a lie.  
“It’s true then. He’s gone insane.” The same voice called.  
“No!” She yelled in reply.  
“If we go to Winterhell, we will never come back out.” He argued.  
“That is not true! You have my word as a Bolton…” He spat at her, making her horse shy away. She had to grab a lock of mane to prevent herself from falling.  
“The word of a Bolton is worth less than my whores.” He growled.  
“You will hold your tongue, or lose it.” She heard Skinner growl.  
“You see? Bolton men won’t ever change. Now we have Bolton girls too.” He grinned up at her. _He’ll see, he’ll remember._ “My family may have committed many crimes. But I am not my father, nor my grandfather. We need workers. Winterfell is in ruins and we must rebuild it before the new Warden of the North arrives. We are all Northerners and if Winterfell is taken away from us, it will be placed into the hands of some wet Southern Lord. Would you rather have some stranger that doesn’t give three fucks about you?” _Too common. They’ll see. They’ll remember.  
_ “And how many fucks does Lord Ramsay give us?” A man from the back called. The whoremonger looked up at her expectantly, waiting for her to fail. “My Lord father may not care, but I do. I care about my family, and my people. If you help me, I will be forever in your debt. You will be paid for your trouble and I can promise you protection should you need it. You have until tomorrow to decide whether you will work for us.”   
“And if we don’t?” The whoremonger growled. She met his gaze for the first time, staring deep into the eyes that had once terrified her. “I am not my father, nor my grandfather, but the blood of the Bolton’s runs through my veins as much as pig shit runs through yours, whoremonger. Refuse my offer and I may let you live to regret it.”  
With that final warning, Vyda turned her back and left them.   
_Not Vyda, Leona. I am Leona Bolton now._


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reek and Theon are taking care of Ramsay whilst the castle is set to rights. Vyda takes some time to be a child again and it seems there is a ghost in Winterfell.

The men were put to work outside, the women inside, though none would venture near to Lord Ramsay’s chambers. That task fell to Reek. That was how Lord Ramsay liked it. Reek was instructed to keep his Master away from the workers and in his chambers where he could not be seen and could not cause trouble. In some ways, Reek was relieved to be locked up with a madman. At least he wouldn’t have to suffer the cruel japes of the people. His time with Master was simple, as long as he kept him amused.  
If he didn’t, it would become a lot harder.  
Already he had been punished a few times. Lord Ramsay had taken to carving words into skin. If he wasn’t pleased with his work, he’d remove the skin. Fortunately for Reek, Ramsay was a good artist.  
Most of the time his Master was good to him. Kind and not ungentle. Sometimes he would forget things and Reek would remind him. It was better to remind him then lie. Master could always tell when he lied. When he reminded him, his Master would look sad and Reek would comfort him, then Ramsay would fall asleep beside him and Theon would have time to think alone. It was better not to dwell on the past, but his ghosts were hard to be rid of. They would not let him sleep. There was no one there to comfort him. No one had ever been there to comfort him.  
 _Everybody has a story. If you keep it to yourself it dies and comes back to haunt you.  
_ Well, perhaps there was _one_ person.

“Is all ready for their arrival?” She asked, inspecting the wool dress she suspected was turning her legs red.  
“Almost, my lady. The place should be ready in time for Lord Garlan’s arrival.” Damon informed. _Thank the Gods._ “Very well. Thank you Damon. You may take the men and go hunting. Bring us back a boar to feed our new Warden.” Leona smiled brightly at him.  
“I shall, my lady.” He bowed his head and left.  
Not long after, she heard the hounds baying and horses cantering out of the courtyard. It was a good job the women were inside the keep where the dogs couldn’t reach them. Vyda stood up and wondered over to the window. A splinter of wood stuck up from the window sill and she picked at it idly, watching the workers below. When the whoremonger came into view, she dug her nails into the crevice she had made. _You threw me from my home. You left me no choice but to come here. I’m going to make you pay for that._  
She had tried to avoid him as best she could. At mealtimes, she would sometimes glimpse him watching her. She wondered if he knew. It had been many years, and he had seen many women, but why else would he look at her? She shuddered, but continued watching him as he ordered the men about. Vyda didn’t even turn when she heard the door open behind her. “Come play?” Laina asked, standing just behind her.  
“I don’t have time to…”  
“Play!” Laina whined, clutching Vyda’s hand.  
“Fine! But we can’t be long.” Vyda allowed her sister to lead her down the hallway into an empty chamber where, for a time, she was a child again. They played now you see me and tag. Then Laina picked up a ball and they played catch for a while until they were both hot and sweaty, and Vyda’s itchy woollen dress was forgotten.   
They were taking a break when Myranda came into the room and observed the mayhem within. “Lady Leona, you have instructed the women to clean the house, yet here you are causing havoc. You will clean this up yourself. Laina, your bath is almost ready for you.” She informed starkly, clearly irritated by their childish behaviour.  
“Can I stay longer? Please?” Laina begged.  
“When I come back from getting fresh linen and towels, I expect you to be ready.” Myranda gave Leona an angry glance. She always blamed her when there was any trouble. Laina was too simple to be the cause of mayhem, and she was always the follower anyway. As soon as Myranda had gone, Vyda set about tidying the room. She could feel Laina’s gaze on her. “You understand what’s going on? Don’t you Laina?” She asked, straightening out one of the fur rugs.  
“You’re making our castle look pretty.” She replied, wondering around the room. She was light footed and graceful. It was a child’s gait. “There are people coming to see us. We must be well behaved and respectful.” Vyda informed.  
“Will we get to look pretty?” Laina picked up a vase of half-dead flowers and stared at them, wide eyed.  
“Yes. We will get new gowns. But you have to understand, these people are very important. You must be on your best behaviour.” Laina stared at her blankly. “Do you remember when you were younger and Grandfather had you go to that feast?”  
“I got a new grey dress. And father took me to meet lots of people. They all said I was pretty.” Laina recalled, her brow furrowing in concentration.  
“Yes they did. They will call you beautiful now though. But you must not allow any man to touch you. Not unless I give you permission.” Vyda did not like saying it. She sounded possessive. She sounded like her father. But Laina _was_ beautiful, in a dark haired, pale sort of way, and she was impressionable. “I won’t let them touch me, unless you say so. You weren’t at the last feast.” Laina said.  
“No, I wasn’t. I was…” She was cut off by a crash, then an ear-splitting scream.   
_No, no, not now!  
_ They wasted no time. Vyda was first out of the door. Cries and screams continued to ring out, guiding their way. There was a balcony from which they could look down on the scene below. A dozen people had gathered around already. A body lay, face down, on the floor. She was completely motionless. Vyda didn’t need to see her face to know who it was. Blood pooled around Myranda’s head that had cracked open on the stone floor. The clean sheets were strewn around her, the ones closer to her were already stained red with blood. “Fallen down the stairs, looks like.” Vyda heard someone say. She looked over at Laina who stared back at her. The look in her eyes spoke a thousand words.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Garlan arrives at Winterfell. Vyda must do her best to deal with politics. She discovers he is not as warm as he first seemed.

She smoothed down the silk dress and shivered. It was no fabric to be wearing outside, that was for sure. She went no further than the bottom step of the stone stairs that led up into the keep, in fear of getting it dirty. Not that she cared. It was an ugly thing. The colours had faded slightly, but the red and pink could still be seen. _Why did my house have to have such bold and ugly colours?_ They looked out of place amongst the plainly dressed servants in the courtyard. She wished she could have worn Lady Arya’s colours instead, at least then she’d fit in. But the time for being a ghost was done. Now, she had to be a lady. She thought back to Lady Arya; it had been the other way around for her.   
Vyda tensed as she heard the column approaching.  
She tried her best not to show it, but she was terrified. Myranda’s death had shaken her confidence. The workers had fallen into discord not soon after and she had had to resort to reminding them of House Bolton’s favourite punishment in order to make them stay. That only proved to make her even less popular; she could feel several glares on her now, but they were the least of her worries. Her sister sensed her discomfort and moved beside her. Laina clutched her hand. As Lord Garlan’s men appeared beneath the gatehouse, she freed herself from her sister’s grasp as gently as she could. She didn’t want Laina to hate her too. As Lord Garlan rode towards her, she longed to grab her sister’s hand and pull her back again, but she dared not to. The new Warden of the North dismounted and approached them. She bowed her head and curtsied, knowing that her sister was doing the same behind her. “Lord Garlan, you are most welcome.” Leona said softly, glad that she was able to hide the tremble in her voice.  
“Rise up.” His voice was kind and respectful. She stood tall, but did not meet his gaze. _He will see and he will know. I am no highborn lady. I am worth less than his horse’s shit._ Vyda tried to push the thoughts from her mind. She noticed Lord Garlan’s eyes were wondering from her. “Forgive me my Lady, but I was expecting your father to come and greet me.” His abruptness was surprising but welcome; she was not well practised with the hidden meanings southerners seemed to favor.  
“I beg your forgiveness, my Lord, but my father is unwell. Age has made him not the best company. He felt it best if it were my sister and I that greeted you when you arrived. I am Lady Leona, and this is my sister Laina.” _You are no Lady.  
_ “Very well.” Her father’s absence clearly displeased the new Warden.  
“Shall we go inside, my Lord? It is warmer and there is mulled wine and plenty of food for both you and your men. Chambers have also been prepared.” The words sounded rehearsed; a mummers farce.  
“My men and I thank you for your hospitality, Lady Bolton.” _How can you not see? I am no Bolton, I am a Snow._ He followed the mummer inside.

The Great Hall of Winterfell had not seen such a feast in a long time. Perhaps not even since the Starks had ruled there, not that anyone said it out loud. The food was not quite what the southerners were used to, but they were grateful for it nonetheless. The boar had been roasted to perfection and no cups were ever left empty.  
Vyda’s cup never emptied at all.  
She barely ate a thing, too nervous to do so. “You have no appetite my Lady?” Asked Lord Garlan.  
“No. I appreciate your concern, Lord Garlan.” She had to confess that she was warming to the man. It had been a long time since she had spoken to a man so warm. Perhaps it was due to the climate he came from. He had only grown kinder after she knelt and accepted him as Warden of the North, in her father’s place of course. “How are things in the South? The King is well, I trust?” She heard herself ask.  
“Yes, he is well.”  
“And your sister? I hear that she is the most beautiful Queen that ever lived.” The words sounded so ridiculous and childish that she winced.  
“Don’t let the King’s mother hear you say that.” Lord Garlan smiled. Vyda missed the joke. _I should have learnt more about the South._ But who was there to ask? “My Lady, will you honour me with a dance?” For a moment, Vyda thought it had been her that had been asked. Panic seized her, then melted away when she realised it was her sister the man had asked. Vyda looked up at him, judging his character. He was a handsome youth that she had already been introduced to. One of Lord Garlan’s cousins she recalled. Laina looked at her pleadingly. Leona nodded her consent. “We need not concern ourselves with matters in the South. My main concern is the North.” Lord Garlan said. Vyda looked away from her sister and back at him. “Concern, my Lord?”   
“Your grandfather did a fine job at bringing the North to heal, make no mistake my Lady. Lord Bolton was a good man.” _You clearly never met him._ “But your father is something different. Forgive me my Lady, but I fear the North would never follow him.”  
“I understand my Lord.” Leona admitted, preparing herself for the words to follow.  
“Winterfell is a great stronghold. I feel Lord Bolton is not the best man to defend it.” Lord Garlan picked up his goblet and inspected it. There was a dent. It was old and had not been polished well. “What are you suggesting, Lord Garlan?” She tried to keep the irritation from her voice.  
“I am suggesting, Lady Leona, that you allow me to take Winterfell.” This time, his abruptness was not a good thing.  
“And where would we go?”   
“Back to the Dreadfort, where the Bolton’s belong.” He drew his eyes away from the goblet and watched her. The deep brown eyes that had been warm only moments ago were now frozen. She could smell the ambition. “Winterfell has always been the seat of a Stark. You would find no other Northern house more loyal to the King than House Bolton and you seem to have forgotten who my mother was. I am as much a Stark as I am a Bolton.” _Snow._ “The Northern Lord’s would not appreciate a Southerner ruling Winterfell.” She added. Lord Garlan took a sip of wine. “Tell me, my Lady, how old are you?” He asked, the warmth returning to his voice.  
“Four and ten, my Lord.”  
“You are wise for a girl your age.” She looked away from him, not liking the sudden change. “You are also of an age to be wed.” She felt as though she had been slapped. The thought had never even occurred to her. When her eyes met his, she could tell he was pleased. He was well aware that he had struck a nerve. “It is for my father to decide who and when I shall wed.” She replied bluntly.  
“From what I have heard, your father is in no fit state to be making decision on who and when you shall wed.” His eyes challenged her. She met them. “Then we must wait until he is.” It was a feeble argument, but the best she could think of. Lord Garlan smiled. “Calm yourself, Lady Leona. I am not going to sell you off to one of my men like some horse. I am simply considering arrangements that would benefit you and your sister, and the realm of course.” _He is attempting a different approach, he wants me to think he is putting my interests first._  
“I cannot speak for the realm, but my sister and I are quite used to fending for ourselves. We always have done.” Garlan looked questioningly at Laina, who was focusing intently on where to put her feet. “But if our new Warden would like to install a garrison of his choosing, he would be most welcome.” Lord Garlan turned back to her and smiled in a way that told her he was the victor. She smiled back. _It would be such a shame if the ghost of Winterfell were to take a disliking to this chosen garrison._ Leona drank her wine. **  
**


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Garlan leaves his Tyrell garrison, but they find there is a foe that will not easily be defeated. Meanwhile, Vyda is struggling to control Laina.

A garrison of twenty was left to keep an eye on things in Winterfell, much to Leona’s dismay. She could sense that all of the Tyrell men were unhappy with their new home. The keep always seemed to have an air of disquiet around it. Vyda couldn’t remember a time when it hadn’t been there. It had been enough to frighten off most of the workers before Roose Bolton had visited, but now there was the added danger of the mad Lord. She had known that locking Ramsay up wasn’t a long term solution and, eventually, the door had to be opened. Vyda feared what would become of Theon otherwise. Lord Ramsay was free to wonder around the castle. The Tyrell garrison soon learnt to listen out for his footsteps and the keep seemed to be under a permanent oath of silence, always waiting for the footfalls. What made matters worse was that bodies had been found around the castle, many still warm. Some appeared to have been accidents, but others…well…it was hard to find an excuse when the man had an axe sticking out of the back of his skull. The garrison believed it was down to the Lord Who Lost His Mind. The townspeople on the other hand recalled a time at the start of the long winter, when bodies had been found buried beneath the snow. Whenever a dead body was found, they took to blaming the ghost of Winterfell. Vyda had asked Theon about it. “That was a long time ago.” Reek had replied. He had repeatedly tried to escape the subject. Eventually they had been silenced by the sound of the footsteps. Vyda had had to run for her life before Ramsay saw her with his pet.   
At mealtimes, Ramsay would be driven back into his chambers by the racket from the Great Hall. Leona sat in his seat between her sister and Lord Garlan’s cousin Derren, the handsome youth that had danced with Laina on his first night at Winterfell. He was pleasant enough company, but she did not trust the southerners. “I don’t see why we need him.” She had complained to Damon one day as they watched a few of the men being trained by Derren in the yard.  
“He’s alright. A bit of a sap, but that’s southerners for you.” He had jested before wandering off. _But he doesn’t see._ Vyda did. She saw how Laina always hung around him, laughing at his jokes. They danced at every dinner and Vyda had also seen him kiss her once. It had been a brief thing, but Laina had obviously liked it. She appeared to have found some of Myranda’s old gowns. As Myranda had been a whore, they only covered what needed to be covered. Try as she might, Vyda could not convince her to dress for her status, and she didn’t have the heart to tell her sister that it was the inheritance Derren was after; Laina was just a bonus.

Over the course of four weeks, three bodies had been found. When identified, it appeared that it was only the townspeople. But during the fifth week, one of the Tyrell men went missing. On the sixth week, he was found in an abandoned bedchamber, a length of rope still around his neck. They had brought him before Derren and herself in the Great Hall. “He was a good man. Be sure he receives a proper burial.” Derren ordered. “My Lady, might we have a word in private?” She knew what that meant. He thought she’d ordered the man’s death. Leona led the way down a narrow corridor into a room with a desk that her grandfather had worked in when he was at Winterfell. “I am sorry for your loss, Ser Derren.” She said, pouring two goblets of wine. She didn’t drink hers. “My loss? I barely knew the boy.” Derren smiled.  
“But you said he was a good man.”  
“I lied.” He continued to smirk at her.  
“Of course.” Leona narrowed her eyes at him and moved to the other end of the room, as far away from him as she could get.  
“When my cousin gets word of this, he’ll be angry. You’ll need my help.” He told her, suddenly serious. Leona was silent. She did not want to say anything in fear that it would provoke him to say the words. He smiled at her. It was a smile that said _I have a solution._ He turned away, as though to leave. _Does he think I will beg?_ “Don’t you touch Laina, do you hear me?” She growled. He turned and faced her, smiling a lopsided smile. She suspected he thought it was charming. “I haven’t touched Laina.” He admitted.  
“Good. Don’t.” Vyda warned.  
“It’s not Laina I want to touch.” She felt as though she had been slapped. He moved towards her so fast she didn’t have time to move away. He touched her cheek, cupping it with his rough hand. “Why can’t you be kind like Laina?” He looked into her eyes. _Ambitious cunt._ As he leaned in to kiss, she swung her fist around. He howled in pain and took a few steps back. When he brought his hand away from his face, his nose was crooked and bleeding. “You broke my nose!” He cried.  
“You worried it’ll ruin your pretty face?” For a moment, she forgot who she was.  
“That wasn’t very lady like was it? But then again, you’re no lady are you?” With an ugly smile, he wiped away the blood and left the room.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vyda considers her options as Derren shows more and more interest in Laina. Meanwhile, in the South, little birds begin to sing.

Derren appeared to be paying no heed to Vyda’s warning. If anything, he showed _more_ of an interest in Laina. Despite the broken nose that distorted his features, Laina did not refuse his advances. She was pleased that he was finally paying more attention to her. Vyda watched it all from a distance. “He’s trouble that one.” Skinner said to her one day as she watched them from a window.  
“I know.” She replied.  
“Needs to be dealt with.” He continued. Derren leaned in and kissed Laina’s cheek for the entire yard to see. Vyda gritted her teeth. “I know.” She growled. She knew something had to be done. She knew it was down to her to do something. But Laina was deaf and blind to her protests to the match and, even if she did manage to sway Laina, Derren knew her secret and he could use it against her. He’d tell everyone that she was a bastard, then he’d claim Laina and rule Winterfell. _That cannot be allowed to happen._ But how could she stop it?   
The answer came with a raven.  
Vyda was sitting in what had become her usual state of tense silence beside Derren at breakfast. He paid her no mind, choosing to focus on the girl with the better bloodlines. The maester shuffled over to him and passed him a letter without a word. Derren opened it and read it. He frowned. “What is it?” Laina asked simply.  
“Nothing for you to concern yourself with.” His reply was sharp and Laina looked hurt by it. “Summon my garrison and order them to meet me in the council chamber.” He ordered and the maester scuttled away. _They aren’t yours._ Derren slumped back into his chair, clearly irritated. When Laina touched his arm and muttered his name, he pretended not to hear her. Vyda tried her best to hide her pleasure, but her best was not good enough. “Something funny, bastard?” He muttered, loud enough so only they could hear.   
“You seem troubled Ser Derren. Has there been another death? Is the responsibility of Winterfell too much for you?” She smiled sweetly back. His answer was an ugly snarl. Derren snatched his arm out of Laina’s grasp and stalked off, cursing under his breath. “Derren is angry.” Laina observed.  
“Yes. You are not to go after him, hear me?” Laina nodded and resumed eating her breakfast. Vyda, on the other hand, made her excuses and left the room.

The screams were still going, floating up to the window like the voices of a thousand songbirds. _My little birds that sing for me_. That thought made her smile a little. Only a little though. Despite how much she’d seen of it, she still did not take death lightly. She stared down into the darkness. The moonlight made the trees shimmer beautifully; a silken dress hiding an ugly woman’s pock-marked body beneath. “Come to bed wife.” She did not know he had woken.   
“In a moment.” The voice was cold but she knew he would not take it to heart. He was most likely focusing more on her bare body than her voice. “Does my Shewolf wish to howl to her moon?” He jested. _Not your Shewolf. A wolf cannot be tamed._ Truth be told, she was wondering how many times her mother had stared out of this window. _The river runs to the south. Was she looking for me?_ She did not move when she heard Harry slip out of the sheets. He wrapped his strong arms about her and kissed her shoulder. “Come to back to bed, my Queen.” He whispered.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has been so long! I lost power then sort of fell out of the swing of things but, much like our Shewolf, I have returned! Only a short update I'm afraid but there will be more soon!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Careful Ser. The shadows you speak of are our ghosts. They are not our friends.” The warning was all in her voice, but he did not seem capable of listening to warnings. He continued his sticky-sweet smile.

She hid outside of the council chamber, listening. After years of being a ghost, it was not hard for her to fall back into old habits. “I’ve received a raven from my cousin, Lord Garlan. He informs me that there has been a rebellion in the Riverlands.” The room remained silent. “The rebels have taken Riverrun.” Derren’s voice trembled slightly, though whether it was from excitement at the thought of fighting in a battle or from fear of fighting in one Vyda couldn’t tell.  
“What concern is that of ours? We guard the North. The Riverlands are in the South.” Came another voice. The men muttered in agreement. “They are heading North. The rebels are heading towards the Twins as we speak, perhaps they are already there.”  
“Surely they’ll be trapped when they reach the neck, if they even get that far. The Twins won’t be easy to take. The King could send men in from behind.” Another man said.  
“The Riverlands are supporting the rebels. Word is they’re hanging Frey’s.”  
“Again? Are there any Frey’s left to hang?” One man joked. No one laughed. “Lord Garlan commands that we join him. Perhaps if we gather a large enough force it will be enough to intimidate the rebels…and the northmen.” Derren sounded as though he were reciting the words; he failed to add any power to them.  
“The northmen? Why should they rebel?”  
“You’re a fool, Ser Addam, if you think they harbour any love for the Boltons and you’d have to be simpler than those two Bolton girls to believe they’d fight for us southerners.” Vyda let Derren’s insult wash over her. _I’m cleverer than you._ “The leader of the rebellion claims to be a Stark.”  
“A Stark? They’re all dead. Even these northmen know that.” Ser Addam growled.  
“Which Stark?” A softer voice asked.  
“The Lady Sansa. People seem to believe it too. Why else would the Riverlands rise up against the crown if not for one of Tully blood? The North will do the same for a Stark.” The room fell silent. _Sansa Stark._ Vyda knew next to nothing about this woman. “The twins are the daughters of Arya Stark…”  
“Who was most likely beaten to death by her husband. I believe some of you refer to him as the Lord Who Lost His Mind?” The room remained in an uncomfortable silence. “There aren’t many in the North that have even seen the two girls. Most likely they’ve heard the rumour that they are both monsters.”  
“Nevertheless, they are Starks. We should forge a strong alliance between Stark and Tyrell.” Came the soft voice again.  
“How?” She could hear the feigned confusion in Derren’s voice.  
“Marriage. You should take one of the Stark girls to wife. Then we can join Lord Garlan without fear of a Northern army attacking us from behind.” The men waited for Derren’s response.  
“I need time to consider. I shall meet you in here tomorrow gentleman, once breakfast is done. You have my leave to go.” Vyda melted deep into the shadows as the men swept past her. She liked the way Derren leapt three feet in the air when she spoke. “So which sister is it to be?” She called, stepping out from the shadows.  
“The legitimate one. Though I could bed the both of you, just to be sure.” He snapped.  
“Did I frighten you, Ser?”  
“The shadows move unexpectedly here. Hard to know which is caused by light and which from darkness.” He replied, smirking.  
“You got that from a book. You aren’t smart or poetic enough to come up with such a line.” The insult only made his smile wider.  
“Clever girl. Shame you aren’t the legitimate one. I’d prefer a clever wife.”  
“Careful Ser. The shadows you speak of are our ghosts. They are not our friends.” The warning was all in her voice, but he did not seem capable of listening to warnings. He continued his sticky-sweet smile. “So you will wed my sister?” She asked, hiding her own smile.  
“Yes.” He replied flatly.  
“You’ll have to ask her father first.” Derren paled and fell silent, as though waiting to hear those ominous footsteps. Vyda smiled a cruel smile when she spotted his fear. “Your father is a madman. We can make allowances for that.” He growled angrily when he noticed the pleasure she took from his fear.  
“That may be so, but name one maester that has examined my father and declared him so.” Derren’s lip quivered as though she had struck him. She noted that an ugly vein bulged from his forehead when he grew angry. “Good luck finding a maester brave enough for that examination.” Vyda turned to leave.  
“Or perhaps we will just find a way to rid ourselves of your father.” She stopped and turned. “Are you shocked by that, Lady Snow? I’d kill him myself. It’s not as though he’s a feeble innocent. The people of Winterfell would thank me.” He snarled at her, relishing her anger.  
“You wouldn’t fucking dare. You’re too much of a coward to kill him. You wouldn’t get anywhere near…”  
“Shall we find out?” He smiled and began to move towards her. But the shadow moved faster. Vyda hardly saw her and Derren never saw her at all. The blade flashed and then there was red. Derren’s eyes bulged in sudden fear and confusion. It made him look ten years younger. _He is just a boy._   
That didn’t matter to Leona though. She peered at Vyda through matted hair, breathing so heavily that Vyda could see her shoulders rising and falling. Vyda wasn’t sure if the girl truly understood what she had just done. She did not look as though she had enjoyed killing him, but she did not look like she was bothered by it either.  
Footsteps sounded behind them and the ghost slid back into the shadows. “Well, well, well.” Vyda span around. “Looks like you’re doing your father proud, bastard.” The whoremonger spat.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon smells blood. To the South, a cold wind blows North.

Theon knew something was wrong the moment he entered the Great Hall. Ser Derren wasn’t there and, perhaps more worryingly, neither was Vyda. _Leona, she’s Leona now._ But he did not care about Leona. Laina was sitting on the dais looking as lost as she had done the week after they took her sister away, all those years ago. Her eyes lit up as soon as she saw his familiar face. He ignored the insults and the saliva that flew at him as he hobbled down the aisle as fast as his maimed feet could take him. “My Lady.” He gasped when he reached her, out of breath from the effort of moving so fast. _I’m getting old, how is that possible?_ “My sister is gone.” Laina said, biting back tears.  
“I’m sure she hasn’t gone. She is probably just late. Shall I look for her?” The girl looked so lost and alone that he did not wish to leave her. But he feared what had become of Vyda. He had seen the looks Derren gave her. Had he been who he once was, he would have given those same looks. As soon as Laina gave him leave to go and find her sister, he left the room, ignoring the pain in his missing toes.  
  
He knew the smell of blood better than anyone he knew, apart from Ramsay perhaps. It filled his nostrils, mingling with death and fear. Whether it was his own fear or someone else’s, he could not tell.  
It was soon clear that it wasn’t just himself that was afraid.  
Vyda was sitting in the corner nearest to the whoremonger’s body. Her thin, pale arms were wrapped around her legs, clasping them as tightly to her body as she could. She didn’t seem to notice him. Her eyes were instead focused on the pool of blood that was inching its way towards her. The whoremongers head had been smashed in, the brick that caused his death had clattered to silence nearby. Derren’s body was near the back of the room, his throat a gaping red hole that looked like a second mouth. No words came out. Only a silent plea. Theon could hear Vyda singing to herself softly. Reek wanted to turn and run back to his Master’s chambers. Theon knew that she needed him. _It’s too dangerous, you tried to help another girl before_ a small voice cried. It wasn’t hard to block out though. “Vyda?” Theon called. The girl wiped away at the eyes that were her greatest curse; were it not for them, she would never have come here. She would have been safe. On closer inspection, he saw that her face and hands were spattered with blood. She looked at him, then at the bodies. “I…I didn’t mean to…b…but he knew!” She cried. Theon moved around the pool of blood and knelt down beside her. “It’s ok. It will be ok.” He lied. For a moment, she looked as though she would fling herself at him and cry into his shoulder. She steeled herself just in time. “Why did you kill them Vyda?” He asked. Her eyes widened. Once again she looked at the bodies. It was as though she were seeing them for the first time. “Derren…I…I wouldn’t! I didn’t! It wasn’t me!” She wailed. It all came out in a babble, but Theon was used to incoherent babbling. It was how Reek would speak to Master if he was frightened. It was how Master spoke to Reek whenever he was panicked or confused about something. He understood everything; how Leona had stepped out from the shadows and made Derren’s throat smile its bloody smile. How the whoremonger had taunted Vyda, threatened to make her confess the crime she didn’t commit or, worse still, drag her back to the whorehouse to work where she belonged. “He cornered me against the wall. I felt the lose brick and swung it at him. I…I never meant to…” This time she did not manage to steel herself. Vyda flung herself at him. Theon did his best not to topple over. _Why is this world so cruel to its children?_ He thought as she wept and shuddered into his shoulder.

“The Twins are yours, my queen.” Harry informed, smiling, his face flecked with blood and mud. It had been harder than she’d anticipated, what with the Frey’s still at each other’s throats. Lord Walder Frey had died many years ago now, sadly, but his spawn still squabbled over his remains like relentless carrion crows. _Let the real crows squabble over their remains._ One by one, Sansa dished out her punishments to each and every Frey that still breathed. Most were hung, the women and younger children she spared. All the boys were taken as hostages. When an elderly Raymund Frey was dragged before her she showed no mercy. “Slit his throat to the bone and throw his body in the river.” She commanded. Her men did as she asked without question. _Let the trout’s feast on his body._ “Will we stay here a while, my Queen? The men could do with a rest.” Gyles Grafton advised as night fell and the last Frey stopped swinging on his rope.  
“A week they shall have, no more. We must move fast. No doubt the Warden of the North has heard of our coming.” She took a sip of wine and moved over to the window that faced North.  
“Would it not be best to wait a little longer, your Grace? The men could do with refreshing themselves before we march on Moat Cailin.  
“A week.” She repeated firmly. Beyond Moat Cailin lay the North and in the heart of the North lay Winterfell. _Home._ The word sounded faint and unfamiliar to her. Between here and home awaited the Tyrell army, no doubt the Bolton’s were there too. _When winter comes for them, the roses will wither and die and the flayed men are already dead or dying._ “Get some rest, Ser Gyles.” She ordered. “Winter is coming.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bolton household can breathe a sigh of relief with the Tyrell host leaving to defend the North. But Vyda struggles to look at the positives, especially when a chance meeting reminds her that she is never far from danger.

They blamed it on the whoremonger. Unfortunately the roofing that had collapsed onto his head left him unable to produce an alibi. Lady Leona had seen him heading towards the council chamber on her way to breakfast. Then she had heard their raised voices and fled in fear; she was only a young girl after all.  
Yet Vyda could tell that some didn’t believe this tale. She heard them whisper. _It was the ghost, it was the Lord Who Lost His Mind, it was the daughter, he refused her for her sister, she refused him but he insisted._  
So many tales.  
No one seemed too concerned about the whoremonger though. As the weeks passed and ravens came and went, the death of Ser Derren became a distant memory. Lady Stark’s forces had reached the Neck, and word was that the Crannogmen were assisting her with taking Moat Cailin. The Tyrell host at Winterfell were readying themselves to depart, raiding the stores for provisions and training any man from winter town fit enough to fight. For Vyda, Theon and Ramsay’s boys, the Tyrell garrison couldn’t leave quick enough. Laina, on the other hand, was in a state of misery and spent most of her time sulking. “We shouldn’t let them leave.” She grumbled to Vyda as they watched the men file out of the courtyard from a window in one of the corridors. “They shouldn’t leave without Derren.” It was the third time she’d said it that day alone. Vyda hadn’t had the heart to tell her the truth. If Laina knew it had been Leona, Vyda feared what she might do. She told Laina that Derren had run away with some serving wench and that he wouldn’t be coming back. Laina had been so distraught that she’d locked herself in her room. By the time she’d emerged, Derren’s death had been forgotten and Laina had begun to hate him for leaving her. But what the simpleton had believed to be love never truly left her and she had grown convinced that Derren would return to her and beg her forgiveness.  
“Derren’s gone Laina. He left you and he’s never coming back. Never. He doesn’t love you and he never did!” Vyda snapped. Laina’s eyes widened with shock. Vyda had never snapped at her before. “I’m sorry Laina. I didn’t mean…” Laina walked off before she could finish her apology. Vyda turned back to the window.

She had no idea how long she had stood there for. So engrossed was she in watching the men as they disappeared over the rolling Northern hills, she didn’t even notice the footsteps until they were right behind her and it was too late to run. She held her breath when he stopped behind her; so close she could feel his breath stir her hair. “I should get ready. I should have been leading the vanguard. We can’t trust that fat cunt Manderly. I’m going to be the one to find Stannis. When I do, I’ll flay him alive. Then I’ll find my Reek and my wife and make sure that they never try to run away again.” He growled into her ear. Vyda did not move. Not even a tremble. She stared at their reflection in the glass and realised this was the closest she’d been to him for many years. His reflection watched hers but there was no realisation there and for a moment she felt more alone and abandoned then she had ever done before. Her father stood right behind her but he did not know it. He did not know he was her father. He didn’t even know her _name.  
_ His hand crept up her back and around her neck. She didn’t move. She continued to stare at him in the mirror. He stared back. Their reflections were as pale and lifeless as the shade of a ghost and for a moment that was what they were.  
She hated it.  
 _I don’t want to be a ghost anymore.  
_ She wanted to wrench free of his icy grasp. She wanted to hit him and shout and scream and tell him what her name was and who she was. Then she wanted him to strike her back and tell her she had been disobedient.  
Then, once the fight had fled from them both, she wanted to collapse into his arms and weep. She wanted him to apologise and hold and stroke her hair and kiss her cheek and tell her she was pretty and that he loved her the way she’d seen other fathers do in winter town.   
As her moment of madness subsided, Vyda released a long sigh, as though to release the stupid longing that had wormed its way into her foolish mind. She could feel her father tense at her movement, but he was too fixed on her reflection to do anything. She resumed her staring. If this was the closest she’d ever get to her father then she was going to learn what he looked like. Her first thought was how _old_ he looked. His face was creased, as though someone had tried to draw in an angry frown but hadn’t got it quite right. Instead it looked sad, as though he was tired of anger. His hair was more grey then dark brown now. Vyda couldn’t recall how old her father must be now, but she was sure he shouldn’t look this haggard. _Perhaps he should be leeched. Would you like that grandfather?_ The thought made her smile. It died when Ramsay’s hand began to tighten. She could feel his grip tickling her windpipe. His reflection had morphed into an angry beast. He glared at her as her eyes widened. “I want my Reek. Send them to me, bastard, and I will not trouble you or your black crows. Keep them from me, and I will cut out your bastard’s heart and eat it.” He spoke the words aloud but they were not being said to her. Vyda began to panic as Ramsay forgot his strength and the fact that he was holding a person, not a quill. “M…master?” A small voice quivered down the hallway. Ramsay’s hand fell away instantly and Vyda gulped down air.   
Ramsay’s head snapped round, his eyes blazed when he spotted Reek. Vyda was still filling her lungs when her father charged towards his pet. Reek’s whimper was barely audible over the thunder of Ramsay’s footsteps. As Reek was knocked to the floor and dragged towards an empty chamber, Vyda fled from the corridor, ignoring Reek’s yelps of pain and Ramsay’s roars of anger.   
It was Theon she cared for, not Reek.   
  
**  
**


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen Sansa makes a hard decision. Vyda begins to worry when Theon doesn't show up to dinner.

She stood on the edge of the hill, looking Northwards. The tears froze on her cheeks as the wind bit at her face, driving her back the way she had come. “My Queen, it is Winterfell you need, not Riverrun. You must not turn back now.” Harrold urged her.  
“You are wrong. Riverrun was my mother’s home. It is as much mine as Winterfell is.” She argued, grateful for the darkness that hid how hard she found this decision.  
“Of course it is, but Winterfell…”  
“Can wait. Do you know what happened when my brother did not return to Winterfell after Theon Greyjoy sacked it? He lost it. We lost everything. My brothers went missing, my mother believed them to be dead, and now they are. My home burned to the ground. I will not let Riverrun fall to the same fate.” She insisted.  
“Very well.” Harrold admitted defeat, recognising the iron determination in her voice.  
“You will remain here with the Lords of the Vale and their foot soldiers. I will take the rest with me to Riverrun.”  
“You? My Lady, you can’t. Let me go in your place.” Harry begged.  
“Do you think I can’t lead an army, my Lord?” She snapped. He knew better than to argue. “I will return to you husband, I swear it. Then we shall take my home back.” She vowed. Turning to Ser Gyles, she ordered him to ready the men.

Now that the Tyrell garrison had gone, the numbers had diminished greatly. The people from winter town had fled back to the safety of their homes and only Ramsay’s men, Theon and the twins remained. Vyda breathed a sigh of relief when she entered the nearly empty Great Hall. She almost looked around in search for Myranda, then remembered how much time had passed since the wench’s death and felt foolish. Things wouldn’t be the same as they had, but she was eager to make it as close as she could get. Vyda sat beside Laina and began to eat. Then she noticed there was no Theon. “Has anyone seen Reek?” She asked. They all stared down in silence at her plates. “We heard him, m’lady. Nothing since then.” Skinner replied. Her blood turned to ice, freezing where it ran through her veins. She had not thought to check on him. She had not thought about him at all. Without a word, Vyda stood up from her place at the bench and began to leave the Hall. “Lady Leona!” She heard Damon call. “Leona! Don’t!” She heard him get up and come after her. She broke into a run.  
He didn’t catch her until she was halfway down the corridor she’d stood in earlier that day. “Stop.” Damon growled, out of breath slightly. He clasped her arm tightly. “Let go of me! Get off!” She screamed, clawing at him desperately.   
“You cannot go to him, do you understand?” Damon hissed.  
“I have to! If he’s hurt Theon…” Damon slammed her up against the wall so hard she could taste blood in her mouth.   
“Never call him that. Ever.” She could her desperation in Damon’s voice.  
“I have to make sure he’s alright. Please?” She squeaked. He released her and followed her down the hall towards the chamber Theon and Ramsay had disappeared into earlier.  
“Let me go in first.” Damon said, pushing her behind him.

Theon could feel himself bleeding. The blood soaked the sheets around him. He couldn’t recall getting on the bed, so he assumed Ramsay had thrown him there once he was done with him. The voice told him otherwise, but that voice lied. “I…I didn’t mean to!” It gasped from the far corner of the room. “I never meant to…I just wanted to…to hurt him a little.” Ramsay wailed. Theon wanted to shuffle away and hide when he heard footsteps approaching the bed. He managed to open the eye that wasn’t swollen shut. For a moment, he thought he was seeing ghosts. “Jeyne?” He gasped.  
“Theon. It’s me, Vyda.” The girl whispered. Theon’s heart jumped back to life suddenly, then it began to dull again. “Vyda.” He whispered.  
“Come on m’lord, we’ll go get the Maester.” He heard Damon say.  
“Yes…yes, the Maester, of course.” Ramsay muttered, repeating the words until they were an incoherent mutter. Theon felt Vyda slide her fingers through his remaining ones. “You can’t die!” She cried. “I need you!” Was he dying? He wasn’t sure but he didn’t feel like it was the right moment to ask. Not now. Not yet. “Vyda, do you remember…when you were younger…do you remember what you said? About everyone having a story?” He croaked.  
“Yes.” She replied after a moment of thought.  
“Well…I want to tell you mine.” He smiled.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghosts rule Winterfell, drawing Leona out of the shadows. Trouble is inevitable.

Theon held on for two more days. When he took his final breath, Lord Ramsay was inconsolable. They locked him in his chambers, fearing that he might break out into an uncontrollable rage. But there was nothing but endless sobbing _._ The meals they left outside for Ramsay remained untouched. Eventually they unlocked the door and allowed him to wander through the castle. He kept to the same route, following the footsteps he had made in the dust. He bothered no one; in fact, he didn’t even seem to notice them. He became a ghost that haunted the castle, sometimes releasing mournful moans when night time fell. Vyda fell asleep at night listening to his cries. Whenever she heard him, a part of Theon’s story would stir in her mind. _You could hear her crying, she never stopped. That angered him more. She cried for the childhood she had lost, the hero that had failed her and the daughters she never knew._  If she listened really carefully, she could tell that they weren’t moans at all. He was saying the name. _Reek. Reek. Reek._ It reminded Vyda of when Leona and Laina had been split up. Laina had muttered her sisters’ name over and over again until it became some sort of chant. _Is this normal when you lose your other half?_ Reek hadn’t been Ramsay’s twin, but everyone needed someone to walk through life with. Laina had Leona, or had had Leona. Ramsay had had Reek. _I have no one. We are all lonely ghosts here now; wandering the halls, going about our unfinished business. Completely alone._  
It was a saddening thought, but that was the way it was. And it was easier that way.

So Vyda was shocked one day when she heard two people talking. Even at mealtimes, Winterfell’s remaining inhabitants barely spoke to one another unless there was something that needed doing or some news from the South. That was a rare occurrence. What was more surprising about these two voices was that they were both female. The only females still in Winterfell were herself, Laina and…  
Vyda sprinted towards the voices. When she listened closer, she realised that they weren’t speaking the common tongue. They were speaking twin.  
Neither girl looked up when she entered the room. It was a long time since she had seen Leona properly. When she had killed Derren she had been half hidden in shadow. Vyda was shocked at how much older she looked compared to Laina. The childish innocence in Laina’s face was not shared by her twin. Leona was thin too. So thin, in fact, that had she been married off like their grandsire had intended she would have most likely been broken in childbirth. There was no chance of her being married off now though. Her face was that of a killer’s; gaunt and bitter and cruel, and her clothes were tattered and torn, her skin marked with mud and blood. Vyda couldn’t tell whether it was her blood or her victim’s.  
The twins were deep in discussion, though it seemed that the majority of the conversation was led by Leona. Vyda wanted to know what they were saying. Even when they were younger and Laina hadn’t known a word of common tongue, she had never been taught twin. The fact that Laina still remembered it worried her.  
She was about to interrupt them when she heard footsteps shuffling past the door.  
They all turned and watched as their father walked by, seemingly oblivious to their presence, muttering the only word he seemed to know. _Reek. Reek. Reek._ When his voice had receded, Vyda turned back to the twins. Leona stared back. She smiled. Taking Laina’s hand, Leona led her sister from the room, leaving Vyda alone in the cold and empty room.

Footsteps were what woke her. They were light ones, soft as a night-time breeze. Vyda had already figured out that they weren’t Ramsay’s. Perhaps Laina was having trouble sleeping. It was not uncommon for her sister to climb into bed with her after a nightmare. Her cold feet always made Vyda start to shiver.  
Tonight, she would have given anything to feel those cold feet beside her own, especially when the footsteps stopped.  
Vyda waited under the fur covers, praying that they would carry on past her room, whoever they were. Childhood memories came flooding back of when she and Laina would build dens beneath the covers and she would tell her sister stories. She liked telling stories. Vyda especially liked it when she told a scary story and her sister would tremble with fear and she would hold her until she fell asleep. Tonight, however, it was her turn to be afraid. _It was probably just the wind. Or a ghost._ The ghosts in Winterfell were the least of her fears. Timidly, she peered over the top of her covers. The ghost stared at her, she could just about see its eyes through the mass of hair. Vyda’s breath caught in her throat and tears stung her eyes. “Theon?” She called quietly. Before she could say anything else, he melted back into the shadows. Vyda smiled. _I am not alone_ she thought, smiling. With an unusual sense of warmth settled deep in her heart, she drifted back to sleep, her smile still on her lips.

He could hear the footsteps. They drove him forward as though every light step were a sharp kick in the ribs, urging him forward. It felt strange. The silence settled in him and his mouth throbbed when he ceased saying the word. He didn’t need to now. The footsteps said it all for him. _Reek. Reek. Reek._ He had to move _faster._ He couldn’t lose him again. As he rounded a corner, he glimpsed the pale shift he let his pet wear. He moved faster. As fast as he could. Another corner. Another glimpse. _Reek. Reek. Reek._ Faster. Faster. He had to move _faster._ Forgotten instincts kicked in once again. He couldn’t just glimpse his prey, he could hear its ragged breath, he could smell it; blood and dirt mixed into a stench that would send most men reeling. It sent him into a frenzy. He took a deep breath, drinking it in. He was close now.  
He found him in the next room he came across.  
When was the last time he had seen him? How long had his Reek been gone? He could not recall, but he felt no anger. Only relief that he had found him once more. Reek did not kneel when he saw him, but he would let that go. He had come back to his master and that was all that mattered. “Reek.” He choked on a sob. “My Reek.” He hurried towards him. He wanted to look into those wide, pleading eyes and see the adoration and fear in them. He wanted to look into those sea blue eyes…  
They were ghost grey. Like two chips of dirty ice. There was no adoration. There was no fear. Only mocking laughter. He stared at the eyes in shock. “You…you aren’t Reek?” He gasped, his voice sounding small. She laughed again. “You aren’t Reek.” His voice was stronger this time. “Reek. Reek. You aren’t my Reek.” She _laughed_ at him. She laughed at his words, at his voice, at his face. _Reek. Reek. Reek._ He muttered the name with each blow he dealt her. He did not see her blood. He did not see her wild rage. _Reek. Reek. REEK._  
“No…please, stop…mercy!” The cry rang out, familiar yet distant, from across the other side of the room. It made him stop. He looked up, fearing another trick. But it wasn’t. She stood staring at him fearfully, hugging herself. “Please…” She whispered. He lowered his fist. He grinned and let the mocking creature crumple to the floor. He had already forgotten her. “Well wife, how kind of you to come back to me.” He growled. He flew towards her. Before she could say another word, he had picked her up and was carrying her back to their chambers. “You still need to give me a son.” He said, grim faced. This time, he was determined to fulfil his duty.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vyda learns of the nights events. Sort of.

Vyda ran from room to room, screaming her sister’s name. Her sister screamed back, begging Vyda to save her, but the emptiness of the keep made it hard to tell where it was coming from. So she ran; searching every room, tearing down tapestries and shoving aside furniture. She found no one. The screaming continued. It pulled her towards the darkest part of the castle. “I don’t want to go in there!” She tried to say, but the words caught in her throat. Clinging to what remained of her courage, she stepped through the door into her father’s tower. Ghosts appeared from the shadows. _So many_. She could see Theon and Myranda. Ben Bones was there too. Derren, the whoremonger, a girl with a face so sad and pitiful it made her want to weep. She couldn’t though. _I must find Laina._ She passed by the sad child. “Mercy…please…save me!” She cried out after her. _Her name was Jeyne, it rhymed with pain._ Vyda continued down the corridor, never looking back. More ghosts appeared as she neared her father’s chambers. These ones she didn’t recognise, yet somehow she knew who they were. One man had no head. It scared her, the way she could see where his head had once been. _My real father lost his head at Kings Landing._ The woman next to him was even more terrifying. Her hair was white and brittle. Scratch marks ran down beneath her eyes like thick red tears. Her throat had been sliced open so deep Vyda could see the bone beneath. Her eyes were what scared her the most though. They saw her and they hated. _Lady Catelyn hated me from the moment Lord Stark brought me home with him._ Lady Stark held her hand over the gaping hole in her throat and croaked out a word. Vyda couldn’t understand what she said. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. She began to walk faster, but the corridor seemed to stretch out forever. She came across a man with a wolfs head instead of his own, its red tongue hung limply over sharp yellow teeth, howling silently. _I should have been with him. Where was I? I should have died with him._ The wolf-man watched her as she hurried on. Past the two flayed boys. _It wasn’t me! I didn’t do it!_ Theon’s voice screamed at the sight of them. Next came another man. He looked miserable as the flames licked at his face, peeling away the skin. He stood next to a younger boy, he had been flayed too. _Ramsay, he made me do it, he had laughed and said “Reek killed the boy before, Reek can kill him now too”._ She could feel all their eyes on her, but finally there were no more ghosts. Up ahead, she spotted a window. It wasn’t the door she had hoped for, but it was something. As soon as she reached it, she clutched the windowsill and breathed in the clean air. She dared not look round to see where the ghosts were. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Just as she was about to carry on, a raven landed on the windowsill. She stared at it. There was something about the way it looked at her; as though he knew everything she had done and everything she would do. It squawked. “Hello there.” She said, trying to make it sound light hearted. Tentatively, she reached out to caress its black feathers. “Ouch!” She yelped when it bit into her flesh, drawing blood. “What did you do that for?” She cried. It squawked in reply. More squawks answered and more ravens appeared. They flew in through the window and pecked at her flesh. She could feel them trying to take out her eyes. Above the flapping of wings she could hear screaming, though she couldn’t tell if it was Laina’s or her own. She tried to beat the ravens off her but there were so many. She could feel herself being pushed back beneath their weight. At some point she lost her balance. Vyda could feel herself falling and expected to crash into the wall at any moment. Instead, she felt a door swing open behind her. “Vyda!” She heard Laina scream. Blood poured out of the room. The ravens pinned her down as it washed over her. The blood smelled foul, vile, _tainted_. “Vyda!” Laina screamed again. The ravens took up the cry as she tried to fight them off her. “ _Vyda! Vyda! Snow…Snow…Snow!”_

When she opened her eyes, the ravens were still attacking, shaking her awake with their claws. It took her a moment to realise that they weren’t claws, but fingers and hands. “Leona, it’s alright, it’s me…it’s me, it’s Damon!” Vyda stared at him, her dream still haunting her.  
“Damon?” She gasped. He nodded, then looked away. “What is it? What’s wrong?” She asked, worried now. In her dream, Laina had been in Ramsay’s chambers. But why would she be there? “Tell me!” She cried, clasping his arm.   
“It’s time you got up.” He said gruffly, tearing away from her and hurrying from the room. She listened as his footsteps faded away, leaving her in silence. The silence was the most unsettling part. Normally she’d be able to hear footsteps, and the soft _Reek, Reek, Reek._ But there was nothing. Not even a whimper. Vyda climbed out of bed and over to the window where the world was still. Peaceful. A thick mist blanketed the green hills, the fir trees dark spears thrusting through it. All she could think of was how much she hated it. Mist concealed. Mist hid. She was sick of things being hidden. Laina turned away from the sight and fled from the room, not bothering to dress. The floor was cold, but she barely felt it as she hurried down the halls. She found no one, just like in her dream. “Laina?” She called. No one replied. “Leona?” Her voice was a whisper. Still the ghost did not appear. Vyda stood a little straighter and headed towards her father’s part of the castle. “I am not afraid. It was just a dream. A stupid dream of a stupid child.” She wasn’t a child. She wasn’t sure if she had ever been one. The only time she had really felt like one was with Theon, and now he was gone and she was all alone. “I’m not afraid. I’m not. I’m not.” She insisted, yet she could not stop the tremor in her hands. Vyda found that the door to his tower was open and she did not allow herself to hesitate. There were no ghosts, but she could hear voices, well, one voice. A low whisper coming from the door opposite the window. Vyda saw no ravens this time, but she did not think to stop and check. As she stretched out her hand to open the door, another grabbed her wrist. Her attacker twisted her arm, causing her to cry out. He clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. “No screaming. We don’t want your father to hear now, do we?” Skinner growled softly before beginning to drag her away down the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not updating for a while. The real world interrupted, the bastard!


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has dinner with an old acquaintance. Vyda is tormented but the interrogation is soon to turn sour.

The youth she had once known and fancied was gone, replaced by a handsome man slightly haggard by years of fighting. “I trust the food is to your liking Ser Loras? I am sure the food is of a better quality in the capital, as it comes from the Reach.” She asked softly.  
“Indeed it is, Lady Sansa.” Loras replied, smiling a little. She did not attempt to correct him. His sister was his Queen and he was not from around here. “It is good to see you again, my Lady. Such a shame it was not under better circumstances.”  
“Agreed. Though I fear if I were to let my presence be known in any other way my head would be placed on a spike just like my father’s. Let us not tell lies Ser Loras. This isn’t Kings Landing.” Her smile never faltered.  
“Queen Margaery was very fond of you Lady Sansa. Her wish to take care of you was never a lie. Perhaps if you were to disregard this claim to the North and the Riverlands, you would be forgiven for your crimes against the crown.” Loras said the words dutifully but he could see from the look in her cold blue eyes that her determination was frozen solid and was as likely to melt as The Wall was.  
“And what crimes might those be, Ser Loras?”  
“Regicide. The murder of King Joffrey.” He tried not to let his voice falter.  
“And what a King he was.” She laughed. “I did not kill King Joffrey, I just carried the weapon.” She laughed again at the sight of his confusion. “I thought the Tyrell’s would share all their secrets with one another.” Sansa sighed.  
“What are you suggesting, my Lady?” Loras frowned.  
“I’m not suggesting anything. Simply telling you the truth. After King Joffrey was poisoned, Dontos Hollard led me to a boat and rowed me to safety. It turned out that safety was Petyr Baelish. He killed Ser Dontos, then told me about the poison in my hairnet. He said he did it for a new ally. Nothing like a thoughtful gift to make a new friendship grow strong. Tell me Ser Loras, what are the Tyrell words?”  
“Growing Strong.” His voice was barely a whisper.  
“And so you all have.” Sansa raised her glass slightly, smiling. “As you were saying, your sister the Queen was very fond of me. She loves you also. I heard she was overcome with grief when she heard you were dying at Dragonstone. She’ll be devastated to learn of your capture by my army of rebels.” Ser Loras paled. Sansa reached over and held his hand gently, her smile showed genuine kindness. “Fear not Loras. You and your sister were kind to me when I was captive and so I shall make sure you receive the best of care. Your sister will give me the North and the Riverlands in exchange for your release and if the King ever attempts to wage war or harm my people again, I will make sure that the crown hears of the crimes your house has committed.” The icy edge had returned to her voice. She raised her goblet again. “To regicide.”

Vyda cowered away from them. Somewhere in the castle, she could hear Laina screaming. That was a form of torture in itself. She raised her bloody hand to her ears and covered them but the light from their torches was so bright it hurt her eyes. It was hear her sister screaming or be blinded. The flames were so close she could’ve sworn her face was burning; beads of sweat trickled down her temple. Vyda could smell burning hair and it took her a moment to realise it was her own. A few moments later, she was startled when an icy wave hit her. Vyda turned her head to try and catch some of the water in her mouth. “What did you do that for?” Someone yelled.  
“To stop her from burning to death!” Another growled. “How do you expect to get answers from a corpse?”  
“It’s how we do things. How we’ve always done things. Or have you grown soft in your old age Damon?”   
“Have you tried asking her questions yet? Did you try before you began tormenting her?” Silence was the only answer. “She’s a good child and Lord Ramsay’s daughter. She deserves better than this.” Vyda listened to his footsteps. Her heart sank when the one man on her side left the room. “Get her up and give her some water.” Skinner ordered, though Vyda barely heard it. They dragged her up into a sitting position before handing her a cup of water. The fire had dried out her throat and she gulped it down greedily. It was gone too soon. “More…please…” She gasped.  
“You will have more, once you’ve answered our questions.” Luton promised. She peered up at them. In the gloom of the dark chamber they were in, they did not look like them men she had grown up knowing, men she had trusted. They looked like monsters; looming over her and making her feel so small and insignificant. “You can’t do this. I am Lord Ramsay’s daughter!” She tried to sound brave and powerful. Instead, she sounded like a little mouse, squeaking in terror.  
“Lord Ramsay understands the importance of obedience training. The fact that he is your father didn’t seem to stop you from angering him last night.” Skinner growled.  
“Last night? I didn’t do anything last night!” She cried.  
“Disobedience is one thing, but lying? Do you know what the punishment for that was? Did Reek never tell you?” Sour Alyn hissed.  
“Please! I swear, I’m not lying! Please!” She screamed in sudden realisation of what they would do.  
“Don’t deny it, Dick saw you! You and your sister dressed up as Lady Arya and Reek and confused Ramsay. When he caught your sister, he carried her off and you did nothing to stop him. I assume it was your idea, as your sister is too simple to think it up herself.” Skinner looked down at her in disgust. At first, the men thought the girl had begun to sob, it took them a moment to realise that it was not sobbing, but laughter. The laughter began to grow in volume, echoing off of the walls. When she looked up at them, tears of laughter glimmered in the dim light. Vyda tried to speak but found that words would not come. Her stomach hurt and she doubled over, clutching it tightly. The laughter sounded maniacal now. “Someone shut her up, she’s gone mad!” She heard someone yell but it only spurred more laughter. A sharp kick in the ribs brought her back to her senses. “It wasn’t me.” She gasped, struggling to hold back her hysteria.  
“Oh really? Who was it then?” Yellow Dick asked. She didn’t see their confused expressions. In a tiny voice, she whispered “Her.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vyda makes a decision but the tables soon turn when Damon tells her some news.

Vyda wasn’t sure what scared her the most; Laina’s screams, the men’s confused cries or her own maniacal laughter. She couldn’t stop. Not even when the blood closed in on her bare feet and painted her toes red. In the darkness, she could hear their agonized cries and dying whispers. Through her tears, she saw Leona vanish back into the darkness. “Who?” Skinner gasped, his eyes glowing in the dim light.  
“A ghost.” Vyda muttered, standing up. She left the bodies where they lay and left the room, not checking to see if any would survive. She wanted them all dead anyway. _If it was just me, me and Laina. I could do it, I could kill the others and then we’d be free and we’d be safe._ It would require her to kill more people, but what did that matter? The only people she had ever truly cared for was her mother, Theon and Laina. Her mother had died a long time ago, Theon was dead too and Laina was the only person she wanted to save.  
Driven on by the thought of being free from it all, she stumbled down into the kitchens and picked up a knife. _How easy it must be. One quick thrust into someone’s chest and it is done._ She was quick. Damon was old and slow. Ramsay would be harder. He may be mad but he was big and strong. _I am strong too_ Vyda assured herself. She left the kitchen, finding that she had to clutch the walls for support. She was aware that her body hurt but had pushed it to the deepest corners of her mind. Vyda did not think about where she was headed, only that she wanted to find Damon before she went to Ramsay’s chambers to rescue her sister. Her feet led her towards the Great Hall. It did not stop her when she found it empty. It didn’t feel empty to her. She could have sworn she heard voices all around her. Someone called out her name and she spun around, slicing at nothing. Had she imagined it or was Laina calling for her? Once Vyda was sure there was no one behind her, she turned around again and headed towards the council chamber. There Damon sat, his head in his hands, running his fingers through his grey hair.

He looked up when he heard her light footsteps. Over the years, he had learnt to fear any form of footsteps he heard in Winterfell. If anyone was approaching you, it was never good news. “Seven hells.” He breathed. The hem of her dress was spattered with blood, the red was a stark contrast to the pure white of the linen shift. “What have you done?” He whispered. He was tired of this. All of it. The Boltons and their insanity. Endless killing. The place stank of death. He used to enjoy it, but now it all seemed the same. Boring. “I didn’t do anything.” The girl growled. She stalked into the room. Damon spotted the knife in her hand before she had even held it out. “Gods give me strength.” He muttered, leaning back casually in the chair. “And what exactly do you plan on doing with that?” He asked.  
“Killing you, then my father.” Leona hissed.  
“Why?” Damon was slightly amused.  
“So we can be free.” The knife did not tremble in the slightest. _She has inherited the steady hand of her father._ “I suppose by we you mean yourself and Laina? Go. I’m not going to stand in your way.” It was true. He wanted to be rid of her and her sister almost as much as she wanted to be rid of him. Strangely though, he couldn’t find it in himself to do them the favour of killing them. “I take it you killed the others?”  
“No.”  
“They’re still alive then?”  
“Not for much longer.” Her voice was steady. Sure. Now that _was_ confusing. “The Gods frown on kinslaying child. You might want to think twice before killing your father.”  
“The Gods? The Gods turned their backs on this mess a long time ago. And my father is no stranger to kinslaying. First his brother, then Lady Walda’s children. If he hadn’t been mad I’d accuse him of killing his own father!” The girl’s voice grew louder, shriller. Her years of holding onto control slipped away with every word. “How do you know all this?” Damon wasn’t sure how much was true. He had heard rumours, but that was all. “Does it matter? This whole family is cursed. Hated by everyone. And now that there is no one left it has turned on itself.” As if on cue, her sister began to scream. “I have to make it stop.” Leona’s voice was barely a whisper.  
“Don’t kill him.” Damon said, his voice steady.  
“I have to…”  
“It’s too late.” He assured her.  
“What do you mean?” The knife in her hand began to tremble slightly. Her brows knitted together in confusion. Damon picked up the dirk that rested on the table in front of him. “He’s already dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUNNN!


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vyda finds a way to visit her sister. She is shocked at what she finds.

The knife clattered to the floor. “What do you mean?” Vyda’s voice was barely a whisper. She could feel her legs shaking, threatening to give way. Damon’s voice remained unchanged. “There is something wrong with his brain. My mother died of the same thing, only she wasn’t as brutal about it. Chances are he won’t have long left.” Vyda felt her stomach turn and she had to purse her lips to hold back the vomit. Her father, the man whom she had feared her entire life, whose heavy tread had haunted Winterfell since before she could remember. Soon it would all fall silent.  
Vyda crumpled to the floor, clutching her churning stomach.  
“It will all soon be over?” She gasped.  
“Yes.” Damon’s voice was harsh, uncaring.  
“I won’t have to kill him?” Despite the fear she felt when he was nearby and what he was doing to her sister, she was relieved it would not be her hand that dealt the final blow.   
“No. You just have to wait.” He said. That thought still sent a shiver down her spine. The waiting. How long though? “We have to get Laina out of there.” Vyda insisted.  
“We can’t. Lady Arya was taken from him once. He won’t let her go again. You wouldn’t reach winter town before he hunted you down.”  
“She is not her!” She snapped. _No more than Jeyne was._ “I know that. But last time he lost her it was a…”  
“Bloodbath?” She finished for him. He frowned at her, confused. “We have to stop him. He could kill her. You have to help me!”  
“Why?” His answer took her aback. He was right. He was just a ghost, stuck here like the rest of them.   
Without another word, Vyda left him there and allowed the silence to devour him once more.

Her feet led her to her chambers, where she stopped and put on some warmer clothes. As the fabric slipped over her skin, she thought of what she had to do. She could not wait for the screaming to cease and for her father to die before seeing her sister. She had to do _something_.  
Determined, Vyda began to collect up the freshest linen she could find before heading back towards her father’s chambers for the second time.  
She hardly even remembered the journey to his door. Only her trembling hand and the steady knock mattered now. As she pulled away her fist from the wood, the screaming stopped. The room beyond the door fell silent. In a moment of sheer hope, Vyda allowed herself to believe that the three sharp knocks had been enough to kill her father. That he had crumpled onto the bed, eyes open but without seeing. Glassed over. Her sister staring at his dead body, confused by his sudden stillness…  
Then came the footsteps.  
Vyda tried to keep her breathing regular and steady. She forced herself not to grab at the doorway to hold herself up. The pause between his footsteps and the turn of the key from inside the room seemed to stretch on forever. “Can I help you?” Her father growled, clearly irritated by the interruption.  
“Forgive me, m’lord. You sent for me to help Lady Arya bathe.” Vyda was shocked by how steady her voice was. She dared not to look the beast in the eye but the confusion he felt seemed to radiate from him. Again, there was silence as he tried to put the non-existent pieces together. “Reek usually bathes her.” Lord Ramsay’s tone was accusing. If her hands shook any more, she feared she’d drop the linen. “You ordered him to see that the cooks did not serve horse again, m’lord.” She lied.  
“Yes, I did. Don’t like horse. He should be back by now, though.” He was growing angrier with every breath she took. _This was a terrible idea._ “You sent him an hour ago m’lord. Perhaps he was getting a meal for himself.”  
“That little shit!” Ramsay roared. He shoved her aside so hard that she fell. The pain of the fall was numbed, however, by the sight of him storming down the corridor. Vyda collected up the linen and went into his chambers.   
The stench billowed out, almost as strong as Ramsay’s arm had been when he’d knocked her out of the way. She could hear the buzzing of flies but the room was so dark that they could not be seen. Vyda shuffled gingerly across the room, afraid of placing her foot in something she wished she hadn’t. Whatever she would find, it was clear that her father had been living like an animal. Somewhere in the room, she heard a rat squeak. More buzzing flies. But the worst thing was that the bed was empty; just filthy, crumpled sheets stained with blood and other human vileness. Laina wasn’t there.  
Vyda chanced a breath and had to swallow the vomit back down. “Laina?” She croaked. Silence. Even the flies seemed to stop buzzing. Then there was a shuffling and two ghost grey eyes glowed in the gloom. “Vyda?” Her sister gasped. Forgetting what lay in wait for her bare feet, Vyda ran to her sister, who was half hidden beneath a pile of musty furs. Vyda spotted several bitemarks around her sister’s neck and breasts, the blood forming a fragile crust around them. The bruises were worse. Much worse. “Come on. Let’s get you into a bath.”

The bathing room was a little better, although Vyda had to scrub a few unidentifiable stains out of the bathtub before she could fill it. She had lit a fire too as a source of light. When she had tried to open one of the shutters that covered the window, her sister had insisted she didn’t. “My lord doesn’t like it. The light gives him such awful headaches.” Vyda had let it be and in the end she was almost grateful. The firelight illuminated enough of her sisters’ body to show what damage had been done. Vyda did her best to clean the open wounds, but she knew that she would have to do a lot more than that to prevent them from becoming infected. “I’m going to get you out of here, alright? I swear.” Vyda promised as she settled Laina back onto the bed.  
“Don’t worry about me. It’s not so bad. As long as I keep screaming. It makes him happy. He hasn’t been happy in a very long time, you know.” Laina’s voice sounded peaceful, almost serene. Vyda was thankful for the darkness then. At least Laina could not see the tears that marked her face.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vyda struggles with the weight of ruling Winterfell. To add to her strains, Laina has fallen ill.

Despite all the damage he had caused, Vyda had now begun to appreciate her fathers’ mental instability. Over the next two months, she was able to tend to her sister on a daily basis, using the same lie she had told him on her first visit. It worked every time. Nevertheless, she still trembled every time the door opened, wondering if this would be the time her luck ran out.  
It was still hard to stomach what was being done to her sister, but getting to see her every day helped. At least she knew she was alive. The smell of the room was becoming easier to stomach too as Vyda grew used to it. She no longer had to run out into the courtyard and throw up when she visited. Laina, on the other hand, wasn’t doing so well. Vyda found a new injury every day. What’s more, her sister seemed to be falling ill. She threw up a lot, adding to the stench. Vyda assumed it was due to lack of air and, on one visit, had skipped bathing her sister in favour of taking her outside. They’d climbed the nearest tower and stood on the top for a time. Laina had enjoyed the fresh air, turning her face upwards to feel the sun on her face.  
It didn’t seem to have any effect on her illness though.  
“I need to get you out of here.” Vyda told her sister one day as she scrubbed her back.  
“I’m fine, really.” Laina assured in that airy tone of hers.  
“You are not fine! You are sick.” She reminded her, suddenly frustrated. Whenever Vyda mentioned anything bad about her sister’s circumstances, her sister would brush it aside as though it were no big deal. Worse still, if Vyda ever said anything bad about their father Laina would jump to his defence!  
“I’m only really sick in the mornings, and then it goes away again.” Her sister insisted. It was true. Her illness was a strange one. The retching happened almost daily, but her sister never grew any thinner. If anything, she seemed to be _gaining_ weight. Even so, it still made Vyda feel uneasy.

Once she was done bathing her sister, Vyda headed to the library. She liked it in there. It was sort of an escape from the rest of the castle and she could lose herself in any of the books there. As the books had mainly come from the Dreadfort or maesters working for House Bolton, they were short on romantic tales most girls Vyda’s age loved. She enjoyed learning about the histories though. They didn’t create false hope like the romantic tales of brave knights and fair ladies would.  
She spent most of her time in the library these days, whenever she wasn’t with Laina. It was her sanctuary. Her sacred place. No one could hurt her there and she loved nothing more than to escape to places in the history books where dragons roamed the skies and direwolves prowled the woods. Though, of course, the thought of direwolves always sent a chill running through her.  
Today however, she found herself searching through books that described different illnesses, desperate for some explanation for Laina’s strange sickness. So far, there was nothing that matched what she was looking for. She had read through three hefty tomes already, reading about every disease there was. She was pretty sure she had studied the symptoms of every kind of disease that existed in the Seven Kingdoms. Twice. Vyda had even studied a small book on poisons but that was about as helpful as the others. Besides, who would want to poison Laina? She was the good one.  
As Vyda readied herself to battle through yet another dusty tome, she heard the door to the library open and froze where she sat. Damon strode towards her, his face creased with worry and concern. “You should read this.” He muttered, thrusting a letter towards her. Quite frankly, she was glad for the break from reading about diseases. “What is it?” She asked, scanning the first few lines.  
“Word from Lord Garlan. Sansa Stark’s army has reached the Neck. Her army is combined of men from the Vale who follow her husband, though they say it is she who truly leads them, and men from the Riverlands. No doubt the Crannogmen will join her soon enough. Worse still, she defeated the King’s army and took Ser Loras, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and brother of Queen Margaery.” Vyda shoved the letter away, unsure of what to make of the news.   
“What am I to do about it? You bring this to me and expect me to know what to do? I am a girl of four and ten. Would you have me muster an army?” She snapped, weary of always being the one that was turned to when trouble arose.   
“If that army gets through the Neck and the Tyrell host, we’ll be next. And we can’t stop them. There are four of us. A madman, a halfwit, a girl of four and ten and an old man. You couldn’t muster an army even if you tried. The Lords of the North hear the name Stark and are deaf to anything else. When Sansa Stark’s army smashes the Tyrell’s, you’d better be ready to beg for your life, and your sister’s too.” He snapped back. Vyda knew he was right about their fight being lost. House Bolton had lost its fight many years ago. “If you want to leave Damon, then go. I won’t stop you. We can die just fine without you.” She muttered bitterly. Damon gave her a hard look, turned on his heel and left the room. _He is tired of dealing with little girls_ she thought. Perhaps they had more in common than they thought.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Vyda and Damon have a rough night. Things seem to be far too peaceful in Winterfell...

It was the silence that kept her awake. Vyda lay still in her bed, waiting for a sound, hopeful for the screams to fill the halls once again. She had not noticed the silence at first, too engrossed in her reading. But now, alone with the night crawling past, it was all she knew. _It’s not so bad. As long as I keep screaming. It makes him happy._ Laina’s words rang through her head once more. Why, then, had her sister stopped screaming? Only one answer came to mind, and it grew stronger with every passing hour. _She’s dead. He’s killed her._ Or worse still _her illness took her. I failed to save her._ Vyda stared up at the canopy and tried to remember the last time her world had seemed so silent. Her life had never been a quiet one, but that was the way of it. People never considered the ghosts in the room. Here at Winterfell, there had at first been many people. Lord Ramsay and his weeping wife, Lord and Lady Bolton for a time, other Lords now and then whose names she could no longer recall, workers, Ramsay’s men, the Tyrell garrison, _Theon_ …  
And before Winterfell there had been the brothel. That had never been quiet. Vyda had heard many things she now knew no child should have heard.  
There had been one occasion though when even the whores had fallen silent. Death had been the cause for that too. The woman’s frightened, agonised screams had sent Vyda to her small room at the top of the stout building. But even curled up in a thick woollen blanket beneath her bed, the screams had still pierced through, making her wince and cry. But the silence that followed was worse. Overwhelmed by that childish curiosity that banished any wisdom, she had crawled out from her sanctuary and ventured down to the woman’s room. It had been the first time she had smelled death. No one had noticed when she slipped into the room. No one ever noticed the ghosts.  
There was blood everywhere. The basins of water had turned from clean and clear to a deep crimson. The water was still warm; she had been captivated by the steam that rose from the surface, slowly drifting upwards, undisturbed by the chaos happening around it.   
The linen they had used was stained red too. Vyda had not been captivated by that as much as she had the steam. She had looked away as fast as she could, swallowing the sickening feeling that was building in her stomach, though what she saw next brought the nausea back so strongly she slapped her hand over her mouth.  
She lay on the bed, surrounded by bloodied sheets, her eyes closed as though she were sleeping. Her skin was a pale grey but for the dark circles beneath her closed eyes. Her lips were red with blood from where she had screamed and made her dry lips crack. Yet despite this sight that made her tremble, Vyda recognised her. She recognised the kind face and the lips that had smiled at her warmly every day for the past few months. The fingers that had taken her own small hands and pressed them to her stomach. Vyda had moved towards her then and taken the woman’s cold, limp hand. She’d brushed a damp thread of hair off her slick forehead. “What are you doing here girl?” A woman had hissed at her, pulling her away from the body by her arm. “You shouldn’t be in here, no place for a girl like you. Go on! Out!” She’d spat, before turning away from her and pulling the sheets up to cover the woman’s face. Vyda had backed away slowly. “Watch it!” Another woman barked when Vyda backed into her. She’d turned then. The tiny, twisted hand had slipped out and, for a moment, it had seemed to reach out to her. Vyda had shrunk away from it, suddenly afraid of deaths touch. Perhaps it had been a trick of the light. The child had been born with the umbilical cord wrapped about its neck, she’d learned later on. As the breath had left it, the life’s blood had poured from the mother; the woman whom she’d sat with those nine months while she’d waited for the babe to be born. Who had become something of a friend. Who she had told her stories to. Whose hair she had held out of the way each morning as the woman retched…  
Amidst the silence, Vyda was suddenly deafened as the realisation came crashing down around her.

Damon leaned back in his chair, downing the dregs at the bottom of his cup. Light slowly seeped into the room, signalling the coming of dawn. _Great. Another fucking day._ He placed the cup back on the table and rubbed his eyes wearily. He had not slept. As he had grown older, he’d found sleep came to him harder. He didn’t think that was the way it was supposed to be. When he had been a younger man, he would fight off the siren call of sleep until he had either fucked someone, whipped someone or killed someone. Now though, he just wanted to sleep. But the silence forbade it. All night it had lasted. He wondered who had died first, the Lord or the Lady. He found a certain comfort in the fact that it was all over. There was just one thing that nibbled away at his mind. Leona. What the fuck would he do with her now? She was the Lady of Winterfell, the only living heir of House Bolton. And a Stark army was coming for her.  
They could leave together. She could be his daughter. They could find somewhere to live. It wouldn’t have to be for long; he’d sell her off to a man as soon as he could. Women who weren’t whores just got in the way. But something told him she wouldn’t leave, not willingly anyway. Despite how much she got beneath his skin, with her sullen looks and spiteful words, he felt uncomfortable leaving her here…  
Speak of demons and they shall appear, was the saying that sprung to his mind.  
Leona stood in the doorway, staring at him with her hard, cold, ghost grey eyes. The look made him shiver. She reminded him too much of her father. Dark circles had settled beneath her eyes. He was sure if he looked in a mirror he’d see similar markings on his own face. “Have you slept at all, child?” He asked, as softly as he was able. She moved towards him. When she was standing in front of the table he sat behind, she stopped and looked down at the rough wooden table top, picking at a splinter in the wood. “You may as well go. Immediately.” She said with a voice as cold as her gaze.  
How loud had he been thinking?   
Damon stared at her for a moment but she did not look at him. It was as though he was not there. Simply a ghost in the room. “What will you do for meat? Do you know how to kill a chicken at least?” Was all he could think to say. Leona shook her head. “Come on.” He said, standing unsteadily on old legs.

Vyda watched as he swooped one of the birds off of their feet, holding its body firmly. “Clean and quick is the way. No second thoughts.” He instructed, miming the action that would snap the creature’s fragile neck. “See?” She nodded wordlessly.  
He released the bird.  
“Go on then.” He indicated to the chickens that pecked around their feet and took a step back.   
“What? Now?”  
“What else are you going to eat tonight?” Damon’s smug smile made him look years younger, almost handsome. It irritated her. Vyda gritted her teeth and swooped down to snatch the bird closest to her…and missed. It was cold in the yard but she grew warmer with each attempt. She made one final, clumsy grab and held on to it with an iron grip. The bird beat its wings and squawked, panicked. Vyda pursed her lips as she tried to figure out how Damon had held onto it so easily. “Clean and quick.” He reminded her. He doubted her. She heard it in his voice.  
She would kill the damn bird.   
Gripping the neck tightly, she began to squeeze. But her hands would only half obey her. Sensing her hesitation, the bird made a desperate bid for freedom and writhed from her grasp. In one swift, graceful motion, Damon had swooped down, picked it up and twisted the neck until he heard it snap.  
He held the body out to her; she forced herself to take it. Warm. Heavy. Still.  
A cold breeze filled the yard and tousled his greying hair. The look he gave her was worse than the beating wings. Worse than the limp body in her hands.  
Without a word he turned his back and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye Damon...


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vyda delivers hard truths.

She didn’t see Damon after that. As she wondered through the castle, Vyda would find herself looking for him, or listening out for signs that he was still there somewhere. He was gone though, and she couldn’t help but feel that a little part of her had gone with him.   
There was no time to brood on it though.  
The moment had been put off for long enough. Stopping her pointless pacing, Vyda turned and headed straight towards her father’s chambers. She felt strangely calm. Either Ramsay or Laina was dead in there, why else would the screaming have stopped? And that meant it was over.  
Gods, how cruel she sounded.  
 _I am a Bolton_ she thought. _Cruelty is in my blood._ So she allowed the thought to remain undisturbed.  
She didn’t bother to knock this time. There was no sign of life from the outside of the door. Nothing stirred within either when she peered in. “Laina?” She called, her voice trembling slightly, her earlier calmness quickly fading. “Laina?” She whimpered again.  
“Shh.” A hand flapped from somewhere on the bed. As her eyes began to adjust, Vyda spotted two figures on the bed. A man, dressed from the waist down, lay on top of her sister, his head pressed to Laina’s stomach. Laina smiled at her with a smile that turned Vyda’s stomach. Vyda hurried over and snatched up her hand, holding it in an iron grasp. “My lady wife has my son inside her.” Ramsay practically hummed the words to no one in particular. Anger began to boil inside her as he pressed soft kisses against the swell of Laina’s stomach. Her hand closed in on Laina’s, unknowingly crushing the thin, pale fingers. “Vyda, you’re hurting!” Her sister gasped. Ramsay’s head snapped up, his eyes fixing on Vyda’s. She stared back. “No one hurts my lady wife without my permission.” He growled softly, his gentle smile swiftly turning into a vicious, ugly snarl. “Go and tell my father of our good news, then return to me for your punishment. I’ll be in need of a new plaything while Reek is busy caring for my lady wife.” He smiled his cruel smile. It used to strike fear into any heart that saw it. But now…now it sagged with age. His eyes were milky and swam with a constant confusion. Vyda suspected the dark cave he had made for himself had damaged his eyesight too. “Your father is dead.” She spat. The confusion stirred and shifted in his eyes, spreading to his brow. “How? When?” He gasped. She ignored him and grabbed Laina’s face as gently as she could despite her rage. “Look at her. LOOK AT HER!” Vyda screamed. Ramsay did. “She is not your wife. She never has been your wife. She is your _daughter_ , you sick, twisted, bastard!” Vyda cried. She was vaguely aware of Laina’s grip on her arm but it did nothing to hold her back. “Your wife’s been dead for years! And even _that_ was a lie. She was no Stark was she? Just some steward’s whelp you liked to hear scream all day and all night!” Ramsay reeled away from her as though she had struck him. “And Reek? He wasn’t Reek at all! His name was _Theon Greyjoy,_ remember? Theon and…Jeyne…her name was Jeyne! And you killed them both, the little pets you created for your own amusement. Your little creations that did whatever you bid them, bastard!” Vyda would have hit him, launched herself at him like Leona would have done. But she didn’t, because invisible hands were doing that for her. At first she thought it was the ghosts dealing the blows. The Starks, Theon, Jeyne, all having their turn. It was a moment before she realised he was having some sort of fit. The clouds of rage lifted as her father convulsed on the floor, begging for her to stop. Eventually he ceased writhing and clawing at the floorboards. He rolled into a ball, his back to them, covering his face with his bloodied hands. If she listened closely, Vyda could still hear him whimpering. She turned back to Laina, who was still staring at their father’s quivering mess of a body. “He’s sad.” Was all she said. “You were too unkind.” She spoke very gently, full of compassion for her father, velveting her reproach for Vyda.  
Vyda could have shaken her.  
“You do understand that you are going to have a child now, don’t you?” Mild astonishment passed over Laina’s face, then it left it tranquil as before. Nothing, it seemed, could disturb her serenity. “Go to my chambers. I’ll deal with him.” Vyda instructed.  
“What are you going to do?” Laina asked. Vyda tried not to sound surprised at her sister second guessing her. “I said I’d deal with him. Now go.” She did not move until her sisters footsteps had died away.  

The rain spat down on her relentlessly. The tears of every Frey had been bottled up by the Gods when they’d cried and pleaded her for mercy, and they were being poured down upon her now. If the Gods were trying to make her feel guilty, they were failing. Sansa lifted her face to the skies and bathed in the grief of her enemies. It soaked through her cloak and furs to the dress of blue wool she wore beneath, right down to her linen shift. It still managed to make her feel cleansed and refreshed, despite how long these tears had been falling.  
There had been a lot of Freys.   
A choking, guttural cough broke through her cleansing ritual and she opened her eyes to see the men around her. Some were slumped against the slimy stone walls that encircled the courtyards. Others, mostly the younger men so eager to please, remained standing at their posts. She could see the signs of weariness beginning to eat away at them though. Sansa watched one closely as he began to sway where he stood, his head drooping. She wondered which man would be the next whose body was flung from the battlements.  
As useful as Moat Cailin was, it was no place for men to dwell. The never-ceasing rain had made everything wet. Men slept close together for warmth, attracting vermin, and with vermin came disease. Another man behind her let out a bone-shattering cough and she turned to look at him. He stared back at her. _He hates me. He does not want to, but he does._  
Sansa turned away.  
She could not turn back. She could not retreat. If she retreated, the Tyrell host would take Moat Cailin and they would have no hope of passing through the neck. She had tried to be fair with her choosing, asking for volunteers to garrison Moat Cailin so the whole army did not need to cross the boggy marshland that surrounded the ancient fortress. But as the rain fell, so had her most loyal men, and she had resorted to picking and choosing.   
Sansa had turned to the lowest of the low, as any noblewoman would.  
She could still feel the dying man’s gaze burning a hole into her back.    
 _If I am ever queen I will make them love me._ She bit back a laugh, pulled up her hood and strode back over to the Gatehouse Tower.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vyda makes a decision that even she is surprised by. Laina finds comfort with the only other person she can.

It would have been so easy. She had been longing to do it for days, perhaps months, maybe even years. But now the time had come for her to end it all…  
And she _froze_.  
He cowered and shuddered at her feet like a frightened child. This man that had haunted her and terrified her for her whole life. The man that had raped her mother. The father that was no father. And she couldn’t kill him.  
 _Chances are he won’t have long left._  
She crouched down beside him, reached out, and laid a trembling hand on his shoulder. He flinched but made no attempt to move away. Vyda allowed her hand to linger there for a moment. Had she ever even touched her father? She remembered the way he had grabbed her neck that one time before Theon had died. He’d touched her hair too, once. A long time ago. They’d been fighting over a chicken bone. But other than that…  
“My Lord,” She muttered, shaking him slightly. “My Lord, please, you must come with me.” She cooed, using the voice she had used to soothe Laina when they were children. Her father turned to look at her, his ghost grey eyes meeting her own. “Come with me.” Vyda ordered gently, standing up and holding out her hand. Her father took it. “You are tired my Lord, you need rest.” She told him. He nodded, his face vacant and confused. Vyda helped him to stand up on shaky legs and was alarmed at how frail and light he had become. This man so many had called a monster was now little more than a shell of his former self. He leaned on her for support as she led him out of the room, the scent outside seemed fresh and clean in comparison and she allowed him to pause and take down gulps of clean air. “This way my Lord.” She encouraged, taking his arm once again and gently leading him forward until she found another set of chambers cleaner than the last.   
The bed had been covered with a sheet but she pushed him down on top of it, laying him down and covering with a musty old fur pelt. “You should rest, my Lord.” She muttered, feeling more foolish now. What was she doing? Caring for him as though he were a child was the last thing she had expected to do to him. _It’s not too late. He is weak. If you smothered him with a pillow, I doubt he would have the strength to fight back._ It made sense, but the thought still frightened her.  
She didn’t _want_ to kill him. She wanted what she had always wanted. A father. Someone to hold her and take care of her and treat her like a child.  
Fearing he would see the tears in her eyes, she turned away.  
When she felt his cold fingers clasp her wrist, she cried out both out of surprise and fear. Slowly, she turned back to him, not meeting his gaze.  
“Who are you?” He asked, his voice clear and sure. She felt a tear fall down her cheek and hurriedly brushed it away. “My name’s Vyda.” Feeling a sudden courage stir within her, she met his confused gaze with her own, making it as gentle as she could. “And I am your daughter.”

She ran all the way to her old chambers; a sudden, overwhelming sense of fear and panic gripped her, its hold getting tighter and tighter with every step. She paused only to retch out of a window before setting off at a run once more.  
Once Laina reached her old chambers that she had shared with Vyda, she calmed a little and dived beneath the covers of the bed, listening to her breathing as it began to slow.  
And then she waited.  
She heard the footsteps before anyone else could, had there been anyone else. Almost by instinct, she cocked her head and listened to her sister’s whispers, feeling comforted by them. A moment later, her other half clambered in beside her. Once again, they clung to each other. They stared into each other’s eyes, unblinking. Laina felt herself relax in the safety of her sister’s arms. And for the first time since her Lord had separated them after the game they had been playing, she felt _whole_.  


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vyda finds happiness but knows it cannot last. She does not realise that danger is closer than she thinks.

It seemed to be some sort of consolation for all the horror that had put her there; as though the Gods had only just acknowledged her existence and that they probably owed her a kindness. Vyda spent most of her time with her father in his chambers, with the exception of cooking meals and finding new books to read. Sometimes she would read aloud to him. Vyda doubted he truly understood everything she was saying and the books on childbirth made for dull reading, but she cherished every moment all the same. Her father seemed to like hearing the sound of her voice. He would ask her questions, trying to piece together their past with his confused and fragile mind. She would hold his hand gently, though there was a firmness to the touch as though she feared he would just slip away, and tell him everything. How good a father he was. How much he loved her. How much she loved him. How he’d taught her to ride a pony down in the yard. How he’d taught her to shoot a bow, and that he’d told her she was exceptionally good and how proud he’d been of her. How good and kind and gentle he was.  
Then Ramsay would smile, grip her hand a little tighter and mutter “I remember now.” And Vyda would turn away so he did not see the tears that fell.  
He enjoyed stories too. Her father was unable to move about much so it fell to her to describe the outside world. “Perfect.” She would say as he lay on the bed, his eyes closed, imagining the world beyond the walls of his chambers. “Everything is perfect.” She would lie.  
Vyda knew she should be spending time with her sister; preparing her for what was to come as best she could. They had no Maester and Vyda feared what people would say if she asked for help, so she had decided she would deliver the baby herself. She had read enough about it to know what to do, even if Laina did not.  
But as the days turned to weeks and weeks to months, Vyda found it harder and harder to tear herself away from her deteriorating, perfect father’s side.  
She knew that Leona was with Laina. She also knew Leona would never hurt her sister, not truly.  
What she did not know of was the growing hatred Leona bore the unborn child.  
The twins would spend all their time together; talking in their alien tongue, playing, exploring, hunting for food, just like they had when they were children.  
But as Laina’s stomach grew larger and her time drew nearer, she was unable to do as much and would tire quickly. She would wander off to some private corner and sit for hours, quite content, just holding her stomach and feeling the life stir within her.  
And Leona would watch.  
She did not truly understand, of course. How could she? She had never been educated in such matters. But somehow she knew something was growing inside her sister. That it was preventing her sister from being with her. That it was a part of Laina, just as she was.  
And it scared her.

It proved to be quite a battle. The losses had been great on both sides and for a moment from her spot on the hillside where she’d watched the bloodbath beneath her, she’d feared they were losing. Only for a moment though. The Queen in the North had the Crannogmen on her side. Her forces had managed to turn the Tyrell host so that the bogs were to their left. As her forces had attacked the front, the bog devils had picked them off from the left with their poison arrows. The Tyrells had put up a good fight. But once Lord Garlan was pulled from his horse, the Tyrell host had lost heart. Many had surrendered and laid their swords at her feet. Others had fled. _Let them flee_ she thought. Southerners had no more power here than the old gods had in the South.  
Sansa saw a small group of men approaching her, led by her husband. “My Lady, we found the body.” He said gravely.  
“I thank you. See that the Silent Sisters take care of it and send his bones back to his sister, with my condolences. I had not wished for him to meet such a bloody end.” She admitted. And a bloody end it had been. As they carried Lord Garlan passed her, she caught sight of his wounds. His head was caved in from where the death blow had been dealt. His arm was unhinged and one leg was mangled so that it twisted sickeningly. Sansa stared at it. “Best not to look, Sansa.” Harrold advised her softly. But she did. She remembered how he had danced with her when she’d married the Imp. How kind he had been…  
“They took off your father’s head and stuck it on a spike for all the world to see. They sewed your brothers wolfs head to his body. They threw your mother’s body…”  
“The Lannister’s did that. The Tyrell’s did not. They were always kind to me. You should have made sure his body was not abused in such a way. They are your men.” She hissed, her voice cold.  
“No. They are _your_ men.” Her husband muttered back, his face dark. “I will see to it that you orders are met, my Lady.” He brushed past her without another word. She let him go. He would apologise later in the darkness of their bedchamber where no one else could hear.  


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Bolton is born. Another Bolton bastard. Another Bolton bastard with ghost grey eyes...

“Laina!” The cry tore her away from her father’s side. It came again and again; panicked, fearful and angry all at once. Vyda bolted down towards her old chambers. When she burst into the room, she was momentarily shocked by the size of her sister’s stomach. When had she grown so big? There was no time to dwell on it though. Laina clutched her stomach as another spasm of pain ripped through her. But she did not scream. If anything, the girl had a look of determination on her face. Leona was with her though and it took Vyda a moment to realise that she had been the one to cry out. All the panic and fear had gone from Leona’s voice now though, leaving behind only anger.   
Vyda pushed past her and led her sister over to the bed, forcing her to lie down on the relatively clean sheets. “Leona, go and heat some water!” She ordered. Silence and a ferocious glare was Leona’s only answer. Quickly judging what stage Laina was at, Vyda concluded that she had enough time to start up a fire in the hearth, gather the linen she had washed in preparation, and find everything else she needed. Yet it made leaving her sister no easier. “I’ll be back soon Laina, alright?” She assured. Laina seemed deaf and blind to her though. Instead, her sister reached out a hand towards Leona. “Take it!” Vyda barked, earning another angry glare. She left them together, hands-clasped, while she went to gather her supplies.

Despite how delicate she had always appeared to be, Laina did not cry out in pain. Perhaps she had endured so much of it that it had lost its foul flavour. She huffed and panted, snorting and sweating like some great beast; eyes bulging, teeth bared. But she did not cry out. She ate her pain and turned it into strength inside her, never letting go of her sister’s hand. Leona’s hand. The cries that filled Vyda’s ears and echoed around them were not Laina’s, but Leona’s. The sound was almost as painful for Vyda as watching her sister’s suffering, and the cries did not stop until the squalling of a baby was heard. A boy. A tiny, healthy boy.  
After she’d held her child for a moment, Laina drifted into sleep; smiling even when her dreams engulfed her.  
Vyda bathed the baby, cleansing him of the blood that covered him from his tiny head to delicate feet. His eyes opened and goggled in surprise at the touch of the warm water. It still shocked Vyda when she caught his stare and saw how similar his eyes were to her own. It saddened her. _You bear our curse too now_.   
As she rocked him to sleep, watching her sister all the while, she thought of what they could name him. The first she thought of was Theon, but looking into the infants eyes she knew it was all wrong. Theon should no longer be enslaved to this family by anything but memory, and the thought of a Theon with those eyes hurt too much; the eyes that had caused him so much pain and suffering.  
She couldn’t do that to him.  
Her second thought was Roose or Ramsay. The names matched the eyes, but somehow the thought of another Roose or Ramsay Bolton made her stomach turn.   
_He’s not a Bolton. He’s a Snow, like me._  
It was true. Despite what the father had believed, the child was born out of wedlock. That made him a bastard. Another Snow with a set of ghost grey eyes. It was too cruel.  
She set the babe down beside its mother, no longer wanting to touch it, as though they would taint each other further through contact. “Laina can name you.” Vyda muttered. That made her feel a little better. The responsibility was no longer hers to bear.

When Laina woke up, Vyda showed her how to feed the child. “Where is Leona?” Laina asked, looking around the room whilst her child suckled happily. Vyda had almost forgotten Leona had been there at all. She had been so used to forgetting her other half-sister’s existence. “I don’t know. Maybe she just got hungry.” Vyda muttered, watching the baby all the while.   
“I’m hungry too.” Laina whined. Vyda pursed her lips, suddenly aware of how much of a child Laina was herself. “I’ll go and get you some food. You stay there with the baby.” She ordered. Laina smiled and turned her attentions back to the suckling child.   
Vyda knew she should go and get food for the child-mother straight away, but it had been almost an entire day and a night since she had seen her father. She began to worry. What if he had panicked over where she had been? What if he had attempted to go and look for her while she was gone? He could have fallen in search for her, unable to get up. Had he been crying out for her? Had his screams for help been drowned out by Leona’s cries?  
Vyda began to run down the corridors, her heart gripped by fear.  
She needn’t have worried though.  
Her father was still in bed, she saw as she made her way into the room, his eyelids shut as he slept peacefully. Vyda went and sat down next to him. “I’m back father.” She whispered, all thoughts of her hungry sister forgotten. She planted a soft kiss on his forehead and pushed his greying hair back behind his ear. When she pulled her hand away, her fingertips were stained red with blood.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vyda finds herself strangely protective of the child. She begins to notice Leona behaving strangely.

Six times she tried, and six times she failed. Every time the cushion covered his face, she’d panic and pull it away, hoping his eyes had opened while his face had been hidden. They never were. His eyelids remained closed, more blood might drip from his ear, and his chest would rise and fall with every shallow breath. Vyda knew the time Damon had spoken of had come; that her father was as good as dead. _I should put him out of his misery._ Yet she clung to hope with every painful breath he took.  
His death would be a blessing for all of them, she knew. He could be in pain in that tormented mind of his and unable to say it. She needed to be with her sister and the baby (whom her sister had insisted on naming Derren, despite Vyda’s protests. At least they could claim that it was him who was the father if anyone asked), and not just because Laina needed help caring for it. It was clear to Vyda now that Leona was jealous of the baby. More jealous than she had been of Myranda, more jealous than of Derren and of Vyda. Laina had been fond of Myranda, she believed she had loved Derren and she had always loved Vyda. But none of them compared to the love a twin could bear a twin. Apart from, apparently, the love between a mother and her child. Vyda should not have been surprised by the extent of Leona’s hatred. She had witnessed how violent Leona could be when she felt threatened. But she had underestimated the lengths Leona would go to until she saw it with her own eyes.  
Vyda never seemed to sleep. She spent her time going from Laina’s room to her father’s. One afternoon, she had left her father’s side early after another failed attempt to smother him. She knew Laina would be asleep, but that was fine. She could spend time with Derren. Until he was born, Vyda had seen the infant as a problem that would need resolving, she had never expected that she would love him. He was Laina’s, that was reason enough. But it also felt as though he was _hers_. She would watch him and hold him, marvelling at his soft, pale skin and his eyes. The more she looked into them, the more she decided they were not like Ramsay’s at all. They were softer, warmer, kinder. Vyda knew she had to protect him for Laina’s sake, and Laina for his sake, and both of them for herself.  
So when she’d peered in through the chamber door and seen Leona standing over the makeshift crib, every nerve had stood on end. Leona’s gaze was fixed on Derren, and there was something in her hands that was shielded from sight by the side of the crib. Almost by instinct, Vyda released a feral snarl. Leona had started then, snapping her head up and baring her teeth at the sound before admitting defeat and scurrying off back into the shadows. But not before Vyda had spotted the small cushion in her hand. Vyda dashed over to the crib and breathed a sigh of relief. Derren lay in the crib sound asleep, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that could melt her heart. _Safe_.  
For now.

Vyda added spying on Leona to her list of things to do. While Laina was awake and with Derren, Vyda slipped away unnoticed. Her old days of haunting came in useful again as she watched from behind faded tapestries and the trees in the Godswood. She discovered that Leona slept in the watch tower that Theon had once kept Vyda in when she was younger. When Leona would disappear inside there, Vyda would go and check on her comatose father, perhaps catching an hours sleep. But Leona never seemed to sleep for long.  
There was a randomness to Leona’s actions. She never seemed to live by normal times; days or nights, it made no matter. She may do the same action each day, but it appeared to be meaningless. She was obeying dictates beyond the understanding of anyone but herself.  
But gradually, one ritual she performed every day came to Vyda’s attention.  
Once, twice, three times Leona would go into the old library that had been her sanctuary, and come out carrying a stack of old, dry books. Leona would take them into her father’s old chambers, and set them down on the floor. Then she would lose interest. Vyda was sure Leona knew what she was doing, but it was an absent-minded act, half forgetful. When Leona left the room, Vyda would creep in and take the books out and put them in the chambers her father was in now. Leona never seemed to notice the missing books, just carried on bringing more in until Vyda was sure there were none left in the library.

One day though, Vyda’s routine was broken.   
Laina went to bed earlier than usual and baby Derren had been colicky throughout the day. Vyda couldn’t bring herself to leave them, not even to check on her father. So she’d sat down beside Laina on the bed, with Derren’s crib at the foot of it. A sudden peace fell over the room and Vyda was aware of how she was simply sitting there, doing nothing. The peacefulness of the room slowly filtered into her too, so much so that she could not imagine ever being able to tear herself away from it. She was tired of watching Laina and Derren while they slept and her father and Leona when they were awake. She hardly ever got a chance to sleep. But here, in the room with Derren so close and Laina beside her, she felt her breathing begin to rise and fall in perfect harmony with their’s. Slowly, her eyelids began to droop…  
She woke to the sound of light footsteps inching their way into the room.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vyda is horrified when she discovers what Leona is going to do and is forced to make some sacrifices.

She was alert before her eyes had even opened. Between her lashes, Vyda watched as Leona padded into the room, her ghost grey eyes shining in the darkness, watching only the crib and nothing else. She stretched out her hands, like the talons of a hawk reaching out for a rodent in the grass. Derren made no sound as she lifted him but Vyda saw he began to squirm in her arms. He didn’t like to be in anyone’s arms but Laina’s and he was not fooled by a twin like most people had been.  
She should have called out, but she did not. Instead, Vyda followed her from the room and along the corridor, sticking to the shadows. Night had fallen, but there was a full moon guiding her way through the castle.   
Vyda followed her all the way to her father’s old chambers and peered through the door that Leona had left ajar. She flinched when Leona set Derren down on the soiled bed; how _dirty_ it was. But she had no time to fret over it. Leona moved over to the hearth where she had made a pile of something. The shutters were still over the windows though, barring the light and making it impossible to guess what it was by looking at it. But Vyda did not need to look in order to see.  
Leona’s fires were random affairs. Vyda had learnt how to build a proper fire back when she’d lived in the brothel in winter town. But Leona’s fires were wild and they either did not burn at all or they were uncontrollable.  
The realization of what she intended slowly unfolded in front of Vyda.  
It would not light. Would it? There was no warmth in the room and it was still damp and disgusting. A fire couldn’t catch. But Vyda failed to reassure herself. Leona’s desire for flames was all the kindling she would need. The incendiary magic she possessed was so strong she could set fire to water if she wanted to badly enough.  
In horror, Vyda watched as she placed Derren on the pile. Then she looked around the room. What was she after?  
Vyda darted back into the shadows as Leona headed towards the door. She did not see her, too intent to find whatever it was she was looking for. She disappeared down the corridor. Vyda wasted no time. She hurried over to the infant who reached up towards her, smiling in recognition. Vyda pulled him out of the blanket and stuffed some of the wood into it in his place.   
By the time she placed it back on the pile, she was out of time.  
Vyda picked up the baby and fled into the safety of the shadows, clutching Derren close to her so he would not get cold. Leona appeared just as Vyda got behind the door, her arms filled with books. She paused for a heart-stopping moment. Had she noticed Derren was missing?   
Then Vyda heard the tearing of paper.   
She peered around the door, watching as Leona tore out the guts of each book, her face screwed up in anger and hatred. Vyda could have wept. She could have flung herself at Leona and set fire to her herself. All of the books. All of the books that had been her sanctuary when she was alone. _You’d had Laina, they were all I had._ Vyda forced herself to stay still for Derren’s sake. He peered up at her, his pale eyes taking in the grief on her face. He opened his mouth to wail. _No, please no._ She shook her head at him frantically. She did not know if he understood her or if it was just good fortune, but the babe choked back his cry.  
The sound of tearing paper ceased and was replaced by the _clink clink clink_ of metal on stone. The sound was oddly comforting. Leona would never achieve what she had wanted to. The baby was safe in her arms, not on the pyre. _What if I hadn’t been there?_ _How could Leona have imagined her sister would return to her the moment the child was dead?  
_ It was the plan of a madwoman.  
Derren opened his mouth again, as if to cry out. Vyda knew she had to get him to safety. She could worry about Laina as soon as the boy was safe.  
Whilst Leona’s back was turned, Vyda slipped out of the room, not checking to see if she had been heard as she bolted down the corridors and out into the courtyard. There was only one place she felt she could go. It had survived a fire before, it could do so again now. But Vyda did not stop until they were beneath the Weirwood tree. It stared at her, its mouth agape in a silent scream. _Gods protect him_ she begged as she settled him down amongst its knarled roots. She turned away from him, not wanting to linger long in the gaze of the gods. As she ran back towards the keep, she thought of what she should do.   
Laina would have no love left for her sister once she realised what she’d tried to do. She’d leave easily. They could run away to the Dreadfort. Was their grandfather’s wife still alive? She did not know. What’s more, the Dreadfort was not appealing to her. She did not want them to be Bolton’s anymore. Her and Laina and Derren could flee South. They could start a new life together, somewhere warm. Laina could marry if she so wished, she would not be short of suitors. They would leave Winterfell behind and they would be happy, just the three of them…  
She was almost there when her future shattered. Shards of glass burst from the window, raining down on the yard. Vyda looked up towards the room and saw not one, but _two_ figures.  
 _Laina!_

The rest of the keep was untouched, for now, but as she got closer to the chamber, the scent of burning paper and something stronger hit her nostrils. It did not stop her though. Vyda carried on until she was at the doorway of the chamber. There she froze in amazement.  
The flames chased each other up the tapestries and the hearth was now a raging inferno. But that was not what shocked her. In the centre of it all, Laina, passive, docile Laina was returning blow for blow, kick for kick, bite for bite. She screamed at her sister, her fury hotter than the fire around them. She had never retaliated against her sister before but now she was. For her child.  
Vyda hopped over the fire and dodged, hurrying towards her sister. She grabbed at her and caught her clothing, pulling her close so that she could hear her. “He is safe!” Vyda tried to say, but the fire choked her. “Laina! He is alright! I’ve saved him!” Vyda screamed, but her sister did not seem to notice. Somehow, Laina twisted out of her grasp and disappeared into the smoke. _She heard me. I know she heard me. Yet she will not come._  
She was bound to her sister.  
She was _bound.  
_ The smoke stung her eyes. Blinded, Vyda stumbled into the smoke.  
 _Then I will break the bond._  
As soon as she felt her sister, she clung on. Laina tried to fight her way back to Leona. _I will not let her die. I will save her._ With a ferocity she did not know she possessed, Vyda dragged her to the door and out of it.   
The door, as it had been Jeyne’s door and built for keeping people in, was heavy oak. It wouldn’t burn easily. Vyda pulled it shut behind them. She went to turn the key, locking Leona inside. The key was hot and burned her hand as she grasped it. She was about to pull it away when Laina placed her hand over hers, trying to let herself back into the room. It was something stronger than fire that called to her in that room, and it felt like something stronger than fire as Vyda’s hand burned. Laina wouldn’t let go, not even when Vyda began to scream in agony. When another scream joined hers, Laina pulled away and began to pummel desperately at the door with her fists, clawing at the wood. The scream from the other side of the door didn’t sound human. When it sounded as though it should run out of breath, it kept going, higher and higher, sharper than a blade. The smell of burning flesh assaulted her nostrils and Vyda wasn’t sure whether it was her own or Leona’s.

Outdoors, it had begun to snow. Heavily, but there was a tranquility to it. The keep continued to burn behind them as they collapsed onto the cold ground, rolling around in the snow. Vyda rolled onto her back, closed her eyes and opened her mouth, letting the snow melt on her tongue. As the fire began to spread throughout the keep, the snow turned to rain.  
Her eyes snapped open.  
She sat up and turned to look into the burning building. _My father…Gods…what have I done…  
_ Tears stung her eyes and she knew it was not the smoke that caused them. _I cannot worry about that now, he was as good as dead anyway._ But the thought did not ease the ache in her heart.  
 _The baby, I must tell Laina about the baby. Then she will be happy and everything will be alright.  
_ Vyda turned to her sister and opened her mouth to speak. Only a gasp escaped her lips.  
Her face…her poor, beautiful face was burnt, bloody and broken. Her ghost grey eyes were savage, unseeing, unknowing.  
Vyda looked at her face but could not find her beloved in it.  
“Laina?” She whispered. “Laina?”  
There was no reply.  
 _Gods…what have I done?_    


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her feet were bare but she felt no thorns nor earth. In nothing more than a linen shift, she waited. The snow had formed a thin blanket over her before the baby began to cry. It squalled and screamed, pummelling his tiny fists in the air to fight against the cold. The door opened then.

Her feet were bare but she felt no thorns nor earth. In nothing more than a linen shift, she waited. The snow had formed a thin blanket over her before the baby began to cry. It squalled and screamed, pummelling his tiny fists in the air to fight against the cold. The door opened then. The man looked down and she could see the anger and irritation on his face. A ghost of a smile touched her lips. He knelt down over the child and picked up the small scrap of parchment. “Oh…fuck this and fuck you.” He grunted, crushing the note in his fist and tossing it aside. With a look that a man would wear if he were about to charge into battle, he lifted the child up and took it inside.

Sansa stared at the ruin in shock. She had not expected to find this. There was supposed to be men lining the walls, Bolton banners flying, pikes shining in the dull sunlight. Instead? Two scorched bodies and a ruin. “Well. This is disappointing.” Harrold muttered, though she could tell he was pleased that they would not have to lay siege with winter so close.   
“Who are they? Does anyone know?” Sansa asked, unable to turn her gaze towards the bodies. Despite everything she had seen, they were too gruesome for her to look upon; the skin had melted away, crusting around the charred bones. “We’ve questioned the townsfolk. They haven’t seen the Lord in years. The bigger one is a man, for sure. Might be the bastard. The other…they said he had two daughters. Might be one escaped or was dead already. The older villagers said they were frail things…stupid even.” One of the soldiers told her. Sansa nodded and felt an odd sensation at the back of her throat. The bastard had had two daughters. Arya’s children. Sansa felt tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “Your Grace!” Someone called out. Sansa’s head snapped around and she blinked the tears away. A sudden hush fell over them and everyone turned to look towards the gateway to the Godswood, which still stood despite the fire. Between the archway, a figure could be seen, stumbling towards them. The soldiers in the yard raised their spears and shields as the figures weary feet dragged closer. Sansa watched in confusion as a girl no older than fifteen, appeared out of the smoke. “Your grace, wait…” Her husband began, but she did not hear him. Sansa moved towards the girl, her gait steady and graceful. The girl stopped moving when she spotted Sansa approaching her, swaying unsteadily. For a moment, they stared at one another. The girl never took her ghost grey eyes away from Sansa’s. Sansa searched, but found no trace of her sister there. “Who are you?” Sansa asked, her voice sharper than she had intended.  
“Vyda Snow.” The girl replied, in a tone just as cutting.  
“And do you know what happened here?”  
Vyda looked up at the smoking ruin, her gaze never seeming to register the tragedies she had experienced amongst the walls that had burned to ash.  
She turned her gaze back to Sansa. “Yes.” She said. “I know everything.”

***

“Robb Stark, you come back here this instant!” She yelled, her grip on the rope tightening as he disappeared over the hill, waving a stick high above his head.   
“I want to go too!” Eddard whined, trying to urge his pony faster. Vyda tugged the rope hard, pulling him back to her side. “You will do no such thing Eddard Stark. Your mother ordered me to watch you all while we were out and that is just what I intend to do. Robb Stark, if you do not come back here right now I will inform your Lady mother and she will make sure that you are put on a lead next time!” She called after the distant figure.  
“Oh, leave him be Vyda. We’re quite safe here. Robb and I are allowed out all the time. It’s only because we have Ned with us.” Little Catelyn laughed, trotting up beside her. Vyda sighed and resigned herself to constantly worrying that the young Prince would fall from his horse somewhere out of sight. Well so be it. He could die just fine by himself.  
 _I shouldn’t think such things._  
She did not truly mean them of course. She had grown fond of her charges; Prince Robb, as wild as the land he was destined to rule, Princess Catelyn, always minding her courtesies but quite happy to keep up with her elder brother the moment their mothers’ back was turned, and little Prince Eddard, who just wanted to keep up with them both. Vyda had been there for each birth. She had been the one to hold Queen Sansa’s hand as they’d each been pulled into the world, red faced and squalling. It had not been for the honour Sansa had chosen her, it had been because she knew Vyda would not break easily. Sadly, Vyda could not say the same for her hands.

Queen Sansa had kept her close these past twelve years. When Vyda was not caring for the children, Sansa kept her as a companion of sorts. Everyone loved Vyda’s tales. She had so many. The children loved the tales she told of the brave fisherman who was shipwrecked on a far away island. On that island lived a cruel King, the cruelest King that ever lived, with skin as cold as snow and eyes as sharp as ice. He lived there with his wife, a maid who had once been the servant of summer, but whose skin was now as pale as her husbands and whose heart had shattered into a million shards of ice. Prince Robb and Prince Eddard would cheer and mimick the fight between the fisherman and the King of winter, while Princess Catelyn would gush over the love that slowly blossomed between the fisherman and the maid.  
Queen Sansa preferred tales of truth.  
Vyda had never married. She was not yet too old, but the prospect had never appealed to her. Her heart was not hers to give; it belonged to another, and always had.  
Her heart was buried in an unmarked grave deep within the Wolfswood.  
Besides, she doubted she could have married even if she’d desired it. The words were never spoken allowed, but Sansa made little secret of her intentions. Vyda Snow was a servant to House Stark now. Nothing more, nothing less. She was treated well. But it would snow in Dorne before Sansa would allow her to further the Bolton line.  
House Bolton would die when she did.  
Or so she led Sansa to believe.

With her focus fully concentrated on the thickening trees of the Wolfswood around them, she did not notice anything was amiss until Catelyn shouted at her. Vyda snapped her head around to look towards the spot where Robb had been only a few moments ago. Now there was only an empty bend in the road. “Get back here you little bastard!” Came a shout from beyond the bend. Vyda threw the rope that held Eddard’s pony towards Catelyn and urged her horse forward. “Wait here!” She shouted as she went. Her horse was not the fastest. Vyda was a better rider than she had been, but she suspected Queen Sansa did not want her riding about on a fast paced horse that was easy to escape on. Not that she ever would.   
When Vyda rounded the bend, her heart stopped. Robb was lying face down on the ground, coughing and spluttering, clearly winded. His horse was a little way off in the trees. Vyda flung herself out of the saddle and ran to him. “Robb!” She cried, collapsing to her knees beside him. “Robb, are you alright?” She rolled the body over so she could see if his eyes were open.  
They were, but they were not the bright blue shade they had been before.  
The eyes she stared down into now were grey. A pale grey, like two chips of ice. Yet there was a warmth to them too. A kindness that she recognised and that tugged at the heart she had forgotten she had…  
“Derren? What you doing, you little twat? What have I told you about wandering off like…” The old man trailed off when he caught sight of her. The past twelve years had not been kind to him. No doubt the harsh winter that had passed and caring for a child he had not expected had taken their toll. His back was twisted, his gait stiff and slow. Yet he had clearly been trying to reach the boy as quickly as he could. “Damon?” Vyda gasped, unable to keep the name back. Damon stared at her as though he had seen a ghost. Beside her, Derren struggled up onto his elbows. The boy stared sullenly at Damon, hardly seeming to notice her at all. “M’lady…” He croaked, swallowing down a cough. She knew for certain they were not tears, for Damon eyed her fearfully. Vyda couldn’t help but notice the way he slowly inched his way forward towards Derren. “Come here, boy.” He growled. Derren obeyed immediately and shuffled over to his father, head bowed submissively. Damon grabbed him by the shoulders, drawing him close protectively. Vyda stood up, her eyes fixated on the child. “Father? Father, who is this?” The boy asked in a high, care-free tone.  
“No one, lad. Best we be going.” Damon clutched the small shoulders tighter and began to lead the boy away.  
“Vyda! Vyda, look what I got!” She turned to see Robb leading his horse towards her, a rabbit swinging from his hand. He held it up for her to see. “Look! I shot it myself.” He announced proudly.   
“A fine shot, my Prince. Your father will be pleased.” Vyda forced herself to smile at the boy. She turned to look back at Damon, whose brow was furrowed in confusion, his gaze switching from her, to Robb, and back again. Finally, his tired brain caught up. “My Prince.” He more fell to his knees than he did kneel, but he bowed his head gracefully. Derren stood there, confused. “Kneel.” Damon barked, pulling the boy onto his knees. “Forgive him, your grace. He is a simple lad. Doesn’t know his courtesies.” Damon informed, not looking up, though Vyda sensed it was more through fear of her than respect.   
“It’s quite alright. Not everyone does. Vyda doesn’t. My sister says she should, but we see Vyda everyday. Her knees would get awfully tired.” Robb’s voice was full of laughter. Before Vyda could call him back, he had walked over to Derren and was standing above him. “Rise.” Robb ordered gently. Derren did as he was bid. “What is your name?”  
“Derren…my Prince.” He did not lift his head. Vyda could see he trembled slightly. She forced herself to remain where she stood. “And this is your father?” Derren’s nod was immediate. “Do you like horses Derren?” The Prince was gone, replaced by a twelve year old boy who wished to make a new friend.  
“I think so, my prince.” Derren admitted, eyeing Robb’s horse with anxious anticipation.  
“Vyda, bring Grey Wind to me.” The prince ordered. Vyda obeyed.   
As the prince and the bastard petted the horse, Damon hobbled over to Vyda. Both stood and watched for a moment. “All this time…you’ve been there all this time?” He croaked. Vyda nodded in reply, though she was not sure if he was referring to her being a servant of House Stark or a ghost. Damon peered into the trees. “Best not to dwell in these woods long m’lady. When darkness falls the shadows walk, and you are no friend of hers.” Vyda shuddered as his mutterings were carried to her on the breeze.  
“Robb, it is time for us to go.” She announced. The prince smiled brightly at Derren and led his horse away. Vyda followed, though not without one last look over her shoulder.

That was not the last time she saw Derren.  
A few years later, a youth of seventeen arrived at the gates of Winterfell, inquiring after work that involved horses. King Robb had not forgotten the boy, and saw that he was put to work in the stables.  
Queen Sansa was gone by then. She may have noticed the eyes had she lived to see them.   
No one else noticed. No one else saw that the stableboy and the maid of two and thirty years had the same set of ghost grey eyes that their father and his father had had before them.  
Even the boy did not see it, she made sure of that. Once again, her time as a ghost would return to her. She would watch from a distance. But he never saw her.  
House Bolton faded from a memory into a story; one that the old servant of House Stark would tell the children of Winterfell when the snows drove them inside, and they begged to hear tales of the mad Lord and his madder daughter. And the ghost that haunted them.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that is one of the happiest endings I've ever done...besides the extinction of House Bolton, of course...  
> Thatnk you very much for reading this! Feel free to comment with your thoughts :)


End file.
